£-o<^ 


(ktrp./6,     /?t>Y, 


TO 


ENGLAND    AND    BACK 


TO 


ENGLAND  AND  BACK 


A  WINTER  1/ A  CAT  ION 


BY 

CANON   KNOWLES 

\ 

"Going,  staying;  staying,  going, 
Little  recks  the  ready  mind; 
Wheresoe'er  good  work  is  doing 
Richest  realm  he  there  shall  find." 

Goethe 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG  AND  COMPANY 

1S92 


COPYRIGHT 

By  A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co 
A.  D.  1S92 


DEDICATION. 

TO    MY 

MANY  SYMPATHETIC  FRIENDS  AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD, 

WHO  FOLLOWED  MY 

"WINTER  VACATION"  IN  THE  COLUMNS  OF 

"THE  LIVING  CHURCH," 

I  DEDICATE  THIS  VOLUME,  TRUSTING  THAT  THE  LETTERS. 

HERE  PRESENTED  IN   MORE  PERMANENT  FORM, 

MAY  FIND  WITH  THEM   A 

RENEWED  WELCOME  AND  AN  ABIDING  INTEREST, 

J.  H.  K. 


CONTENTS. 


i. 

Leaving  Chicago — Sunday  in  Cleveland — New 
York — Rev. Dr.  Houghton — Trinity  Church 
— Rev.  Dr.  Holland— General  Theological 
Seminary — Professor  Richey — Fifth  Ave- 
nue— Central  Park — The  Pyx — Departure 
on  Germania         -----        i3 

II. 

Smooth  winter  seas — Cure  for  sea-sickness— 
Fellow  travellers — Beautiful  waves — Sun- 
day services         -         .         -         -         -  18 

III. 

Sunday  in  Ireland— St.  Finn  Bar's  Cathedral— 
An  ordination — An  afternoon  walk — Even- 
ing service.         ...         -         -  23 

IV. 

Christinas  Da\ — Kilmallock— The  old  abbey- 
Church  services — The  Largess  at  the 
gate.  -         -  -         -         -  28 

V. 
Dublin— St.  Bartholomew's— St.   Patrick's  Ca- 
thedral—Memorial    service    for    Duke    of 
Clarence— The  Table  d'  Hote.         -  32 

7 


8  Contents. 


VI. 

Donaghmore — The  Celtic  Cross — Culdee  re- 
mains— Belfast — Clerical  meeting — Green- 
ore — Holyhead — London.         -         -  39 

VII. 

Westminster  Abbey — The  Clergy  and  Choris- 
ters— The  service — Canon  Farrar's  reading 
■ — Henry" Seventh's  Chapel — Encumbering 
monuments — Busts  of  Keble,  Maurice, 
Kingsley 45 

VIII. 

The  Brompton  oratory — The  ceremonial — The 
music — The  sermon — Evensong  at  St. Paul's 
— The  two  Presbyterian  clergymen — Canon 
Scott  Holland. 51 

IX. 

St.  Paul's  Cathedral — Patronal  feast — Matins 
and  high  celebration  —  Stainer's  Amen,  se- 
lection from  St.  Paul — The  solemn  effect — 
The  departing  crowd         ...  56 

X. 

Contrasts  of  London — The  National  Gallery — 
Old  favorites  —  Rosetti's  Annunciation  — 
Turner's  drawings  —  The  Church  Times 
office — Guildhall — London  Bridge — Lower 
Thames  street — The  Embankment — Water- 
loo Bridge — Perspectives — Suggested  mu- 
sic        -         -         -         -         -  -         64 


Contents. 


XI. 

Early  Sunday  morning  in  Westminster  Abbey 

St.  Mary's  Hospital,  Paddington— Christ 

Church,  Lancaster  Gate— The  Missionary 
— Kensington  Gardens— The  Albert  Memo- 
rial— Evensong  at  the  Abbey — Canon  Far- 
rar's  sermon— Night  at  St.  Paul's— Hon.  E. 
Lyttleton's  sermon         -         -         -         -      7° 

XII. 

St.  Mary  Magdalene's,  Munster  Square— High- 
gate  Cemetery  —  Whitechapel  —  Toynbee 
Hall— Stjude's— The  view  at  the  Tower    79 

XIII. 

Lincoln's  Inn— St.  Alban's,  Holborn— Macono- 
chie  Memorial  Chapel— S.  P.  G.  Rooms- 
Evensong  at  Westminster  —  All  Saint's, 
Margaret  street         ...         -  S7 

XIV. 

St.  Andrew's,  Stock  well  Green— St.  John  the 
Divine,  Kennington  —  Nottingham  — The 
Market  Place — The  old  negro        -  92 

XV. 

The  Nottingham  lace  warehouse— The  daily 
service  for  the  workers — The  London  lady 
and  the  factory  girl         -         -         -  97 

XVI. 
English    hospitality— Excursion   to   Clumber — 
Rufford  -Thoresby— The  Duke  of  Newcas- 
tle's beautiful  church         -         -         -         101 


io  (Contents. 


XVII. 

St.  Mary's,  Nottingham — Canon  Richardson — 
An  English  congregation — Sawlev,  Derby- 
shire -..--.  no 

XVIII. 

Ash  Wednesday  in  Oxford — The  Commination 
Service — Preaching  of  Knox  Little — St. 
Barnabas  Church         -         -         -         -       116 

XIX. 

Meeting  of  Church  Congregational  Music  As- 
sociation        -----  123 

XX. 

First  Sunday  in  Oxford,  Bampton  lecture  at 
St.  Mary's — Bishop  Barry — Cowley  Iron 
Church — The  Common  room — Walk  to  If- 
fley  Church — Evensong  at  New  College — 
The  bells  of  St.  Giles         -         -         -        129 

XXI. 

A  day  in  Oxford — Architectural  groupings — 
Christ  Church  Meadows  —  The  river  — 
St.  Barnabas  —  Father  Maturin  —  Seabury 
House 137 

XXII. 

Chapel  of  Keble  College— The  students— The 
music — The  warden — High  Celebration  at 
St.  Barnabas — Oxford  by  moonlight         143 


(Contents.  " 


XXIII. 

Breakfast    with  a  Don— Excursions    from  Ox- 
ford— American     relics — The     Missionary 
College — Hospitality — The   recluse  author 
149 

XXIV. 

Oxford   routine— Lecture  by  Dr.  Stainer — The 
Bodleian — The    lady    from   the    Fayoum— 
Gifts  of  Laud  and  Selden— Farewell  to  Ox- 
ford— Recollections  of  Common  rooms    154 

XXV. 

Chapel  Royal,  Savoy— St.  Nicholas  Cole  Ab- 
bey— Mozart's  Requiem — The  Church  Club 
— The  Dominican  Priory — Bach's  mass  in  B- 
Minor,  Dvorak's  Requiem       -        -  161 

XXVI. 

B B The  drawing  room — Old  pictures 

The  beautiful   church— Peace  after  a  long 
sermon— A  country  drive         -         -         174 

XXVII. 

To  Brighton— The  University  boat  race  Visit 
to  Cheyne  Walk  The  Thames  to  Charing 
Cross — St.  Bartholomew's,  Brighton— Palm 
Sunday— Good  Friday— Fudi  the  Japanese 
—Easter  day         -  -  i&> 

XXVIII. 

Last  day  in   England-  The  mill  -The  moor 
The  minster— Holyhead— Dublin  196 


i2  (Contents. 


XXIX. 

Resting  in  Ireland — The  return  voyage — Its 
pleasures  —  My  fellow  passengers  —  New 
York  harbor — Landing — Once  more  with 
Dr    Houghton         ...         -  203 

XXX. 

Getting  home  again — Strangeness  of  familiar 
things  —  Fifth  Avenue  and  Broadway  — 
Grace  Church — The  choir  question — The 
new  cathedral — St.  Agnes — Zion  and  St. 
Timothy — General  Theological  Seminary 
— St.  Peter's,  Morristown         -         -  211 

XXXI. 

On  the  Limited  for  the  West — The  Hudson  and 
the  Catskills  —  Albany  —  Bishop  Coxe  — 
The  night  ride  —  The  awakening  —  Lake 
Michigan  —  Nearing  the  end  —  Chicago 
again  —  Business  —  The  World's  Fair  — 
Church  progress — Diocesan  Convention  — 
The  End        -  -         -         -     223 


TO  ENGLAND  AND  BACK 

A 

WINTER  VACATION. 


I. 

THE  rain  and  the  loneliness  at 
Twenty-second  Street  station,  as 
we  waited  for  the  Lake  Shore  train  to 
take  us  off  east  from  Chicago  on  Decem- 
ber 3d,  exactly  coincided  with  our  feelings. 
Adieus  had  been  all  said,  the  past,  like 
a  great  prairie,  stretched  out  behind  us, 
and  it  was  just  as  well  to  be  with  one's 
own  thoughts  alone,  as  one  looked  out 
over  such  a  vista  of  years.  The  lamps  of 
Chicago  seemed  interminable;  they  lit  up 
the  scene,  even  as  the  lights  of  memory 
lit  up  the  past. 

A  night's  ride  brought  us  to  Cleveland, 
where  we  stayed  over  until  Sunday  after- 
noon, the  guest  of  the  Rev.  T.  C.  Foote, 

13 


i4        Co  ©nglanto  anto  ISacfc. 

who  has  charge  of  St.  James'  church  in 
that  city.  On  Saturday  we  called  on  dear 
Dr.  Bolles,  who  received  us  with  a  loving 
kiss  and  gave  us  his  patriarchal  blessing 
as  we  left  his  venerable  presence.  What 
Church  memories  crowd  up  as  one  con- 
verses with  such  a  man:  Crosswell,  De 
Lancey,  the  elder  Doane,  the  Advent, 
Boston,  choral  services,  free  churches,  the 
pioneer  struggles  for  Church  principles 
for  over  fifty  years  past.  We  saw  some 
of  the  fruits  of  such  labor  in  St.  James' 
church,  where  we  ministered  next  day. 
An  early  Celebration  at  which  we  offici- 
ated was  a  refreshment  to  our  souls,  and 
the  children's  Eucharist  fully  choral  at 
9:30,  at  which  the  rector,  Rev.  T.  C. 
Foote,  celebrated,  was  beautiful  in  its 
teaching  power  and  reverent  rendering. 

Monday  morning  found  us  in  New 
York,  the  guest  of  Dr.  Houghton,  at  the 
Transfiguration.  What  a  haven  of  rest 
is  this  secluded  but  ever-busy  nook  in  the 
turmoil  of  New  York  life!  After  Matins 
we  went  for  steamer  tickets  and  letter  of 
credit  to  Wall  Street,  and,  in  turning  into 
Trinity,  as  our  custom  is,  we  found  a  lec- 
ture,   the    first    of    a    week's    course,  an- 


Eo  <i?nglantr  anto  JSarfc.         15 

nounced  to  be  given  at  noon  by  Dr.  Hol- 
land of  St.  Louis.  The  rain  had  followed 
us  from  Chicago,  but  it  did  not  deter  a 
goodly  number  from  attending  the  lecture. 
Sharp  on  the  stroke  of  twelve  Dr.  Hol- 
land entered  the  pulpit,  while  a  few  chor- 
ister boys  in  cassocks,  one  of  the  assistants 
of  Trinity  and  Bishop  Potter  took  then- 
places  in  the  stalls,  a  hymn  was  sung,  and 
then,  after  a  few  collects  and  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  Dr.  Holland  began  a  discourse  of 
marked  brilliancy,  lasting  close  on  the 
hour;  a  collect  or  two  at  the  close,  and 
the  blessing  by  the  Bishop,  concluded  the 
service.  There  was  a  delicious  freshness 
in  the  Doctor's  manner,  and  a  certain 
freedom  of  illustration,  coupled  with  keen 
metaphysical  insight,  which  aroused  and 
retained  attention  all  through. 

Night  found  us  at  the  seminary,  renew- 
ing old  memories  and  interweaving  the 
past  with  the  present,  in  the  study  of 
Prof.  Richev,  whom  we  found  well  and 
happy,  and  promising  us  before  long  a 
new  volume  of  his  valuable  work  on  the 
parables  of  our  Lord. 

New  York  was  in  all  its  glory,  winter 
though   it  was;    so,  the   next  day,  under 


16         aro  uBiiQlant)  anti  I3ack. 

bright  skies,  we  took  in  the  inimitable 
beauty  of  Fifth  Avenue  from  Twenty- 
third  Street  to  the  Park.  It  is  extensive 
enough  to  have  a  vista  like  a  mountain 
gorge;  whichever  way  you  look  it  has 
a  charm  and  a  character  all  its  own.  It 
finds  a  fitting  close  in  Central  Park,  where 
lace  like,  bare  trees,  dark  pines  and  green 
grass  made  a  picture  of  rare  beauty.  No 
wonder  New  Yorkers  love  New  York. 

In  my  many  calls  that  day,  perhaps  in 
a  Churchly  way  the  most  interesting  thing 
to  record  was  a  magnificent  pyx  for  tak- 
ing the  sacrament  to  the  sick,  which  a 
clergyman  showed  me.  It  was  solid  gold, 
over  two  inches  in  circumference,  set  with 
emeralds,  pearls  and  diamonds,  of  real 
beauty  and  excellent  taste,  and  at  a  low 
estimation,  was  valued  at  four  thousand 
five  hundred  dollars. 

Wednesday,  December  9th,  found  us  at 
10:30  A.  m.,  on  the  steamship  "  Germanic," 
ready  for  the  big  ferry  across  the  Atlantic, 
but  before  that  hour  we  had  the  loving 
comfort  of  Celebration,  receiving  from 
the  hand  of  Father  Prescott  at  the  Trans- 
figuration; we  had  Matins  and  Litany,  at 
which  Dr.   Houghton  officiated,  and   had 


Co  ©nglattij  ano  ISacfc. 


his  loving  farewell  as  we  left  his  door  for 
the  steamer. 

Soon  the  time  for  all  to  g-o  ashore  came 
around,  a  few  loving-  friends  lingered  to 
say  to  us  a  last  adieu;  out  into  the  stream 
we  pushed,  and  then  out  to  sea. 


"Germanic"  December,  iSqi. 


1 8         Co  tSnglanti  an*>  SSacfc. 


II. 


FROM  my  experience  in  the  "Ger- 
manic," in  this  month  of  December, 
1 89 1,  I  should  certainly  argue  that  winter 
is  the  best  time  to  cross  the  Atlantic.  We 
have  had  smooth  seas,  bright  skies,  clear 
weather,  a  cheerful,  happy  company,  and 
no  crowding.  All  these  are  advantages 
which  I  found  absent  on  summer  trips. 
Of  course,  we  have  had  some  severe  rolls 
of  the  vessel  and  some  seasickness,  and  a 
little  discomfort  to  some  passengers,  but 
"  I  have  not  lost  a  meal,"  seasickness  has 
not  come  near  me.  I  have  a  psychical 
formula  for  its  cure,  which  is  this:  Culti- 
vate the  Unconscious  Automatic  Equi- 
librium. Where  put  in  practice,  it  never 
fails  of  effect.  It  is  based  upon  the  truth 
that  we  only  know  that  which  we  are 
unconscious  of  knowing,  and  so  when 
equilibrium  becomes  unconsciously  auto- 
matic, we  have  our  sea  legs  and  are  sea- 
sick proof.     The  mental  effort  to  commit 


Eo  tPnglanli  anti  $5arfe.         19 

the  formula  to  memory  is  the  first  step  in 
the  cure.  It  diverts  attention  from  inter- 
nal disturbances  and  then  the  braced-up 
being  can  begin  unimpeded  the  Cultiva- 
tion of  the  Unconscious  Automatic  Equi- 
librium. It  may  be  as  well  to  add  to  this 
a  practical  hint,  to  keep  the  knee  and 
ankle  joints  perfectly  limber,  to  realize 
that  the  horizon  of  the  ocean  is  immov- 
able as  solid  earth,  and  to  consider  motion 
in  all  objects  but  one's  self,  the  normal 
condition  of  environment  in  the  ship.  I 
have  given  this  valuable  formula  to  fellow- 
passengers,  especially  ladies,  with  never- 
failing  effect.  With  two  factors  of  stead- 
iness  established — one's  own  well  balanced 
brain  and  viscera,  and  the  unswerving 
circle  of  the  sea — then  the  incidental  mo- 
tion of  the  ship  will  be  soon  as  little  re- 
garded as  the  motion  of  a  good  horse  or  the 
jolting  of  a  carriage.  The  heaving  deck 
will  become  a  positive  source  of  pleasure, 
and  will  lose  all  its  fearful  terrors. 

Our  company  in  the  saloon,  in  its 
chance  gathering  of  units  into  the  brief 
whole  of  an  Atlantic  voyage,  had  its 
never-failing  interest.  There  were  old 
travelers    who    had    encircled    the    globe 


20         &o  (England  anti  13ark. 

again  and  again ;  there  were  farmers  from 
Manitoba  and  Oregon  homeward  bound 
once  more  for  Christmas;  there  was  the 
silent  old  lady,  with  a  sorrow  at  her  heart, 
which  rumor  told  us  was  the  dead  body 
of  her  daughter,  also  on  board,  on  its 
silent  journey  from  Colorado  to  an  Eng- 
lish churchyard;  there  were  Americans, 
bound  for  tbe  South  of  France  for  needed 
rest,  and  so  on  and  on.  After  some  days 
out,  an  old  gentleman  spoke  to  me;  he 
was  from  a  town  in  Illinois,  near  Chicago, 
and  knew  the  C — s  and  the  D — s  and  Mr. 
S — ,  and  Church  life  in  Illinois  for  forty- 
five  years  past.  The  first  man  I  met  on 
board  was  from  Chicago,  and  so,  ere  long, 
we  were  all  like  a  big  family. 

But  oh,  how  lovely  the  sea  was!  One 
evening  it  was  all  slate  color  and  purple, 
with  yellow  lights  on  the  waves,  caught 
from  the  pale  sunset.  One  night  it  was 
steel-blue,  plumed  with  silver-feathered 
waves,  dancing  in  the  bright  moonlight. 
In  the  sky  were  soft  masses  of  bright 
white  clouds,  with  great  star  lit  spaces  of 
clear,  open  sky.  It  was  a  glory  to  walk 
the  deck  on  such  a  night. 

One  need  never  weary  at  sea,  if  there 


2To  ©itglant)  aitti  iSarfe.         21 

is  an  eye  for  color  and  a  heart  for  beauty. 
If  nothing  else,  there  is  the  encircling- 
perfect  curve  of  the  horizon;  but,  through 
this  mystic  circle  the  dolphins  play  and 
the  whales  send  up  their  spray  and  grace- 
ful gulls  float  about  us.  It  is  all  color, 
motion,  never  ceasing  variety. 

Sailors  consider  it  a  lucky  omen  to 
have  one  parson  on  board;  more  than 
this,  it  is  said,  brings  bad  luck,  so  it  was 
my  fortune  to  be  all  alone  in  this  capacity 
and  to  take  the  services  on  Sunday. 

We  had  our  reverent  worship  in  the 
saloon,  with  the  old  familiar  English 
Prayer  Book  and  Hymns  Ancient  and 
Modern.  A  young  lady  from  Manitoba, 
played  the  hymns  and  all  joined  heartily 
in  their  singing.  There  is  something 
always  touching  in  the  sound  of  human 
voices  on  the  sea,  as  they  are  lifted  in  the 
songs  of  home  or  of  heaven.  Our  hymns 
had  the  pathos  which  ever  pertains  to 
such  conditions.  I  shall  not  soon  forget 
our  congregation  of  that  day;  close  by 
was  a  leading  actress  from  a  London 
theatre  with  some  of  her  people  devoutly 
joining;  in  front  was  my  old  friend  from 
near    Chicago,   though    I    did    not    know 


22         Co  (Jfnglano  anti  13acfe. 

then  who  he  was ;  not  far  off  was  a  young 
mother  from  far  northwestern  Canada, 
with  her  little  boy,  a  dream  of  beauty  and 
as  good  as  gold.  She  told  me  that  she 
had  traveled  fifty  miles  to  have  him  bap- 
tized "in  church,"  as  she  said  with  proper 
emphasis. 

Although  a  sermon  is  not  usually  ex- 
pected or  encouraged  at  sea,  yet  I  ven- 
tured a  few  words,  taking  as  my  theme 
the  verse  of  the  psalm,  "  They  that  go 
down  to  the  sea  in  ships,"  etc.  My 
theme  was  the  sea  a  revealer  of  God,  and 
the  ship  a  teacher  of  human  duty  to  God 
and  to  our  neighbor.  The  sea  revealed 
God  —  in  its  infinity  —  as  being  the  source 
of  life  —  as  being  changeless  under  appar- 
ent change.  The  ship  taught  liberty  of 
will  within  prescribed  limits;  obedience 
to  constituted  authority  and  the  united 
interest  of  all  humanity.  Brevity  had  to 
be  studied.  After  the  service  the  purser 
said  it  was  all  right  and  so  all  were 
pleased.  In  another  Sunday  we  shall  all 
be  scattered,  never  perhaps  to  meet  again; 
soon  land  will  be  reached  and  our  voyage 
will  come  to  an  end. 

At  Sea,  December  /j,   iSgi. 


Co  ©nglanD  ano  13acfc.         23 


III. 

MY  first  Sunday  in  the  old  land  was 
bright  and  beautiful,  not  a  breath 
of  air  stirring  and  a  delicious  tender  sky 
with  fleecy  clouds  hung  over  all.  It  was 
hard  to  think  the  balmy  air  was  in  Decem- 
ber weather.  A  brisk  walk  from  Black- 
rock  brought  us  through  part  of  Cork  to 
the  splendid  cathedral  of  St.  Finn  Bar. 
This  is  a  graceful  structure  with  three 
massive  stone  spires.  It  is  from  a  design 
by  Burgess  and  is  more  Norman  than 
Gothic  in  appearance,  having  a  decidedly 
foreign  air,  unlike  the  English  ideal. 
One  of  the  chief  charms  of  the  interior 
is  that  from  no  point  can  you  see  the 
entire  extent.  There  is  always  something 
unseen  and  beyond. 

The  service  happened  to  be  an  ordina- 
tion. There  were  two  candidates  for  the 
diaconate  and  four  for  the  priesthood. 
Matins  were  sung  with  full  choir  and 
with  good  effect.     The  boys'  voices  were 


24        Co  ©nglano  attfc  ftacfe. 

well  trained  in  a  soft,  delicate  manner, 
and  the  general  effect  was  tender  and 
sympathetic,  but  all  was  taken  in  such  a 
high  pitch  and  with  such  rapidity  that 
congregational  participation  was  out  of 
the  question.  One  or  two  conscientious 
individuals  near  me  were  doing  their  best 
to  join  in,  utterly  unconscious  of  the  ludi- 
crous effect  of  a  man  full  grown,  singing 
off  the  Confession  in  a  high  falsetto  man- 
ner. All  around  was  silence  except  from 
those  few  absurd  attempts  to  make  the 
people's  part  a  reality  with  vocal  expres- 
sion. A  low  pitch  for  Confession  and  all 
the  opening  part  of  the  service,  with  the 
plain  song  in  unison  by  choir  and  people, 
would  make  all  right  and  vastly  popular- 
ize the  choral  service. 

Matins  over  a  fine  sermon  was  preached 
by  Dean  Warren,  on  the  text,  "  Sanctify 
them  through  Thy  truth."  Its  aim  was 
to  show  the  importance  of  a  consecrated 
ministry  and  its  work  in  this  present 
world.  It  led  up  to  the  sacramental  idea, 
but  did  not  express  it  or  even  allude  to  it. 

The  alms  of  the  people  were  at  this 
point  collected  and  offered,  and  thereupon, 
until  the  close  of   the  service,  the  people 


Co  ffinglatrti  aria  -Back.        25 

kept  dribbling  out  of  the  church.  First, 
the  choir  left  in  a  body,  and  then  without 
note  of  music  or  any  adjunct  whatever, 
suggesting  the  greater  solemnities,  the 
services  of  ordination  and  the  Holy 
Eucharist  were  proceeded  with. 

After  the  eloquent  sermon  by  the 
Dean  and  the  emphasis  he  jxit  upon  the 
ministry  and  its  work,  it  seemed  a  strange 
thing  to  put  the  conferring  of  such  a  dig- 
nity and  the  exercise  of  its  greatest  power 
in  such  a  corner. 

The  dribble  of  the  congregation  went 
on  and  on  until  at  the  close  about  fourteen 
people  remained  in  the  church  outside  of 
the  clergy.  It  was  hopeful  to  hear  the 
clear  Catholic  ring  of  the  Ordinal,  which 
fortunately  (providentially,  rather,  one 
should  write)  has  received  none  of  the 
damaging  changes  sustained  by  other 
portions  of  the  Prayer  Book  of  the  Church 
of  Ireland. 

A  young  Irish  friend  with  me  heard 
with  astonishment  the  words:  "Whose 
sins  thou  dost  forgive,  they  are  forgiven, 
and  whose  sins  thou  dost  retain,  they 
arc  retained."  He  had  never  seen  an 
ordination  before,  he  had  heard  the  priest- 


26        Co  <£nglantj  ano  $3acfc. 


hood  denied,  he  did  not  know  such  words 
were  in  the  book,  he  never  knew  that  the 
priesthood  in  the  church  of  Ireland  was 
thus  asserted  and  as  clearly  conveyed.  To 
judge  of  the  effect  upon  my  young  friend, 
it  seemed  a  pity  that  such  a  teaching  rite 
was  administered  in  an  emptied  church. 

The  afternoon  was  spent  in  lovely 
walks  through  woods  and  fields,  watching 
the  pearly  tints  of  the  setting  sun.  A 
landscape,  beautiful  as  Italy,  stretched 
before  us,  tall  pines  rising  above  the  elms 
and  beeches  suggested  the  summer  land; 
neither  was  the  sentiment  arising  from 
the  decay  of  ancient  splendor  absent,  for 
we  had  our  walk  through  the  unoccupied 
park  of  a  vast  deserted  mansion.  We 
had  rambled  through  its  halls  and  corri- 
dors, climbed  its  marble  staircase,  entered 
the  great  silent  ballroom,  and  traversed 
the  tumble-down  conservatory,  where  a 
passion  flower  still  trailed  its  pathetic  ten- 
drils, and  a  Virginia  creeper  was  even  yet 
bravely  in  bloom.  How  sad  it  all  was, 
yet  the  view  from  the  windows  over  the 
Lee  was  like  Tivoli,  the  mirth  and  grace 
of  human  life  had  all  passed  away.  What 
will  the  new  order  bring? 


• 


Eo  (Snglanti  anti  liacft.         27 


The  new  order  in  the  Church  prom- 
ises something  at  least;  neatness,  order, 
interest,  all  indicate  progress.  At  the 
cathedral  the  Dean  gave  out  notice  of  a 
first  Celehration  at  seven,  Christmas 
morning,  a  second  Celebration,  choral,  at 
eight,  and  choral  Matins  and  sermon  by 
the  Lord  Bishop  at  n  130  a.  m.  I  wish  I 
could  be  present,  but  I  must  be  among 
my  own  kindred  in  the  rural  parish 
where  they  dwell,  where  also  are  the 
graves  of  a  household. 

At  night  we  worshipped  in  the  church 
at  Blackrock.  The  singing  was  quite 
fair  from  a  choir  of  men  and  women,  the 
congregation  though  thin,  was  devout, 
and  the  sermon,  if  not  eloquent,  was 
earnest  and  helpful.  The  stars  lit  us 
home  through  the  windings  of  the  way 
which  here  and  there  resounded  with 
sonsrs  whose  refrains  reminded  us  that 
we  were  within  the  range  of  that  inex- 
plicable relation,  Irish  politics. 

Golden    Terrace,    Blackrock, 
December  27,  1891. 


28         &o  u5nglanb  anti  iiack. 


IV. 

PERHAPS  you  would  like  to  know 
how  I  spent  my  Christmas  Day  in 
Ireland.  Come  with  me,  then,  as  we 
drive  through  eight  miles  of  water- 
soaked  country  under  a  cloudy  sky  to 
Kilmallock.  Do  not  suppose,  however, 
that  the  drive  is  unpleasant.  Far  from  it. 
The  fields  are  green,  the  air  is  mild,  cat- 
tle are  in  the  pastures,  and  the  occasional 
song  of  a  bird  is  heard. 

The  winding  road  brings  us  at  last  in 
sight  of  the  town.  It  lies  among  mead- 
ows through  which  flows  in  graceful 
curves,  a  river  whose  poetical  Celtic  name 
is  Lubach  or  The  Dawn.  Within  the 
embrace  of  this  flood  stands  an  ancient 
ruin,  once  the  happy  home  of  Domini- 
cans. The  Irish  Archaeological  Society 
has  recently  put  it  in  some  order,  and  the 
graceful  lancet  windows  and  unroofed 
nave,  aisles,  choir,  and  great  square  tower 
look  interesting  and  picturesque.  Not  far 


Co  <$n giant)  anti  i$a.ck.         29 

off  is  one  of  the  ancient  gates  of  the 
town,  under  which,  in  days  of  old,  many 
an  armed  band  entered  with  booty  or 
passed  forth  to  war.  It  is  now  in  better 
use,  being  occupied  by  a  school.  Within 
the  town  is  another  ruin,  the  ancient 
church  of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul.  It  has 
nave  and  aisles  and  chapels,  and  one  of 
Ireland's  famous  round  towers;  all  open 
to  the  sky,  and  embowered  in  luxurious 
ivy.  The  choir  of  this  ancient  church  is 
rcofed  in  and  fitted  for  divine  service. 
The  sweet-toned  bell  was  ringing  out 
from  the  round  tower,  still  used  as  a 
belfry,  as  we  entered.  We  found  the 
services  fairly  rendered.  The  hymns  were 
the  familiar  Adestc  Fideles  and  "  Hark, 
the  herald  angels  sing."  The  chants  of 
Matins  were  also  sung,  the  choir,  consist- 
ing of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  giving  them 
with  great  sweetness.  But  here  too,  as 
elsewhere  in  Ireland,  not  a  note  of  music 
was  used  in  the  celebration,  and  the  same 
sad  exodus  took  place,  eight  or  ten  re- 
mained for  the  Holy  Eucharist,  all  the 
rest  departed.  We  noticed  that  in  the 
Irish  Prayer  Book  the  eastward  position 
is  prohibited,  and    the   clergyman    is   for- 


30         2To  y?nglantj  anb  33acfc. 

bidden,  while  offering  prayer,  to  turn  his 
back  upon  the  people.  The  effect  of  this 
in  the  conduct  of  the  service,  seems 
strangely  irreverent  to  one  accustomed  to 
our  American  ways.  Crosses  over  the 
altar,  or  anywhere  in  the  church,  we 
found  also  explicitly  prohibited.  How 
strange!  in  the  Church  of  St.  Patrick, 
and  in  a  land  whose  most  dignified  mon- 
uments are  the  existing  crosses  of  the 
ancient  Irish  Church ! 

We  had  in  the  service  an  excellent 
sermon,  delivered  without  manuscript, 
from  the  rector.  His  red  hood  declared 
him  to  be  a  D.  D.  from  Trinity  College, 
Dublin.  It  was  from  the  text:  "What 
think  ye  of  Christ?"  It  was  an  appeal 
for  fullness  of  knowledge  as  to  the  verit- 
able Manhood  and  Godhead  of  our 
Blessed  Lord.  It  lacked  the  practical 
application  which  might  be  given,  by 
pointing  out  how  access  to  that  Manhood 
and  to  that  Godhead  might  now  be  had 
through  the  Blessed  Sacraments;  but  it 
may  seem  ungracious  thus  to  criticise. 
Perhaps  the  art  of  the  sermon  was  in 
permitting  the  hearer  to  make  this  appli- 
cation, silently,  for  himself. 


2To  (Pnglantj  ant)  iiacfe.         31 

The  ancient  choir  thus  fitted  up  for 
worship  presented  a  plain  appearance. 
There  was  some  Christmas  decoration  of 
the  traditional  holly  and  ivy,  and  a  holly 
wreath,  suggesting  by  its  very  circle,  a 
traversing  cross,  hung  over  the  Holy 
Table.  The  most  beautiful  thing  in  the 
church  was  the  graceful  five-lancet  win- 
dow in  the  east  end,  a  relic  of  past  ages. 
The  whole  place  was  devoid  of  orna- 
ment, except  the  mural  tablets  to  departed 
social  greatness,  but  this  five-light  lancet 
window  shed  over  all  atone  of  solemnity 
and  distinction. 

As  we  left  the  church,  groups  of 
eager-looking  lads  and  lasses  lined  the 
way  at  each  side,  evidently  expecting 
something.  What  this  was,  we  soon 
learned  when  we  saw  the  rector  scatter- 
ing coppers  among  them  for  an  indis- 
criminate scramble.  There  was  fun  and 
shouting  from  the  merry  group,  during 
which  we  mounted  our  trap  and  drove 
home  to  a  happy  fireside  and  pleasant 
cheer,  having  on  the  whole  a  very  happy 
Christmas  Day  in  Ireland. 

Adamstown,  Knocklong, 
December  jo,  i8qi. 


32         Co  ^nglano  anfo  ISacfc. 


V. 


MY  little  visit  to  Dublin  had  some 
points  of  Church  interest.  My 
Sunday  was  spent  there,  and  coincided 
with  the  general  excitement  caused  by 
the  lamented  death  of  Prince  Albert  Vic- 
tor, Duke  of  Clarence  and  Avondale.  I 
went  to  St.  Bartholomew's  at  eleven 
o'clock,  and  found  a  most  refreshing 
service.  The  church  is  beautiful,  a  gothic 
structure  well  put  together,  with  a  pecu- 
liar arrangement  of  the  transepts,  each  of 
which  is  composed  of  two  bays,  placed 
side  by  side,  with  supporting  pillars 
between  the  two.  This  gives  space  and 
variety,  and  does  away  with  the  necessity 
of  the  expensive  construction  of  roof 
where  the  transepts  are  built  as  high  as 
the  nave.  By  the  church  is  a  commodious 
church  hall,  and  yet  again  near  that,  a 
fair  vicarage ;  church  and  all  enclosed  in 
one  garden. 

The  chancel  was  well  furnished,  need- 


Co  (Dnglatrti  anti  i3acfe.         33 

ing  only  the  lights;  the  service  was  fully 
choral,  Matins  and  Celebration;  the  boys'' 
voices  were  of  surpassing  sweetness,  and 
the  music  was  reverently  done;  care  was 
shown  in  ever)'  detail,  the  Gregorian 
chanting  of  the  Psalter  being  as  tenderly 
done  as  the  most  elaborate  part  of  the 
service.  How  good  it  was  to  be  one  of 
such  a  worshipping  congregation!  There 
seemed  to  be  no  fear  of  external  rever- 
ence, and  one  could  see  here  and  there 
the  use  of  the  sacred  sign.  We  had  a  ser- 
mon on  the  Marriage  in  Cana  of  Galilee, 
a  clear,  out-spoken  Catholic  sermon,  with 
no  uncertain  sound.  I  must  mention  a 
point  the  preacher  made  which  occurred 
to  myself  when  studying  the  miracle.  It 
was  this,  that  there  is  no  reason  why  we 
should  conclude  that  all  the  water  in  the 
waterpots  was  turned  into  wine.  The 
letter  would  imply  that  only  the  water 
which  was  drawn  out  was  thus  miracu- 
lously changed.  I  remember  seeing  a 
picture  once  where  this  idea  was  depicted 
as  the  water  from  one  of  the  vessels  was 
being  poured  into  that  in  the  hands  of 
the  servant,  the  curving  stream  in  the 
descent     showed     the    change    from    the 


34         &o  (Pnglanti  anto  $3arfc. 


clear  water  to  the  ruddy  wine.  The  rev- 
erent awe  on  the  faces  of  the  servants 
gave  comment  to  the  wonder. 

As  I  followed  the  service,  I  saw  how 
impossible  it  is  by  repressive  rubric  to  hin- 
der the  outcome  of  truth.  The  preacher 
was  also  Celebrant,  and  even  if  he  had 
not  referred  in  his  sermon  to  the  Real 
Presence,  one  would  have  known  his 
faith  to  see  him  at  the  altar.  It  was  in- 
deed a  delight  to  be  at  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's, Dublin. 

In  the  afternoon  we  went  to  St.  Pat- 
rick's. How  pathetic  it  is  to  enter  such 
a  place.  The  traditions  of  Church  and 
State  still  linger  there.  The  banners  of 
the  knights  hang  down  over  the  stalls 
in  the  choir  with  the  helmets  and  swords 
of  chivalry,  but  how  different  all  was 
from  the  tone  at  St.  Bartholomew's! 

The  choir  had  about  it  all,  a  sort  of 
sturdy,  honest  irreligiousness.  They  came 
in,  eyes  all  about  them.  They  took  their 
places  and  lolled  about  bravely.  They 
sang  well  and  lustily.  That  they  should 
sing  was  evidently  the  reason,  and  the 
prime  reason,  of  their  being  there.  So  it 
went. 


£a  (Pnglanti  anfc  33acfc.         35 

The  organ  was  gloriously  played  by 
Sir  Robert  Stewart,  sympathetic  to  the 
last  degree.  His  improvisation  at  the 
commencement  of  service  was  masterly; 
at  first  a  few  notes;  then  a  gradual  in- 
crease until  the  majestic  organ  throbbed 
with  life  under  his  facile  hands.  All 
round  him  through  the  service  were 
young  men  who  hung  upon  his  every 
action,  and  helped  him  con  amore  with 
the  stops.  Beautiful  it  was,  like  a  father 
with  his  children,  but  there  was  danger 
in  it  too,  for  at  times,  proceedings  which 
might  not  be  really  so,  looked  like  indif- 
ference or  irreverence.  What  musician 
is  there  that  does  not  know  the  dangers 
which  lurk  about  an  organ  keyboard  dur- 
ing divine  service. 

The  Psalms  were  splendidly  chanted 
to  florid  chants:  such  a  contrast  to  the  use 
of  St.  Bartholomew,  where  the  psalter 
stood  out  in  most  impressive  simplicity. 
One  does  not  care  particularly  for  the 
words  in  such  rapturous  harmonies,  but 
in  the  simple  style,  the  words  are  every- 
thing. The  service  was  Stewart,  full  of 
melody,  one  anthem  was  by  Spohr,  and 
the  second  the  grand  old  composition  by 


36         Co  <&nglant>  ano  $3ack. 

Blow,  "  I  beheld,  and  lo,  a  great  multi- 
tude." I  had  not  heard  it  for  many  and 
many  a  year,  but  fresh  and  vivid  and  pic- 
turesque it  was  as  ever.  The  tenor  solo, 
"  These  are  they,"  was  especially  touch- 
ing:. I  fear  it  might  be  considered  tedi- 
ous  nowadays,  I  mean  the  anthem  as  a 
whole.  For  American  use,  some  of  its 
involved  verse  parts  might  be  cut  out. 
Enough  is  left  of  simple  grandeur  and 
effective  music  to  make  a  most  inrpressive 
addition  to  choir  music. 

The  whole  service  was  a  grand  one. 
The  crowded  church,  the  aged  and  ven- 
erable clergy,  and  the  eloquent  sermon 
with  loyal  allusion  in  pathetic  phrases  to 
the  great  sorrow  known  to  all,  made  a 
magnificent  whole.  It  was  too  dark  and 
too  late  to  visit  the  tomb  of  Swift  and  the 
well  of  St.  Patrick,  which  still  bubbles 
up  within  the  church.  Indeed,  it  was 
hard  to  move  out  of  the  building,  for  the 
great  congregation  at  the  close  of  ser- 
vice surged  up  into  the  choir  to  pass  by 
the  organ  and  organist  as  the  Dead 
March,  from  Saul,  gave  forth  its  solemn 
strains. 


Co  <£nglano  ano  13acfc.         37 

Through  the  crowded  streets  we 
walked  to  the  Shelbourne,  where  the 
evening  was  spent  in  pleasant  converse 
about  Chicago  friends  and  others.  It 
came  about  this  way:  I  noticed  at  the 
table  d^Jiote  a  gentleman  whom  I  thought 
must  be  an  American.  He  had  a  certain 
quick  way  about  him,  alert  and  keen.  He 
nervously  wiped  his  plate  off  once  with 
his  napkin.  He  seemed  to  be  wide  awake 
all  over,  he  took  the  little  bit  of  ice  cream 
they  give  you  on  this  side,  in  a  bite  or 
two,  and  asked  for  more;  so,  at  the  first 
opportunity,  I  bowed  to  him,  feeling  he 
must  be  an  American.  I  was  mistaken. 
When  I  entered  the  reading  room  after 
dinner  on  Sunday  night,  he  bowed  to  me, 
opened  a  conversation  at  once,  and  when 
he  heard  of  Chicago,  he  surprised  me 
further  by  saving:  "I  heard  a  grand  ser- 
mon on  Atheism  once,  from  your  Bishop 
out  there,  when  he  was  visiting  Bermuda, 
where  I  was  stationed  with  my  regi- 
ment." So  there  was,  after  all,  a  link 
between  u>. 

What  a  talk   we  had  there.     I  hope  I 
talked  "wiser  than  I    knew,"   for  in  that 


38        &o  ©nglairti  ant  $3acfc. 


little  group  by  the  fire  in  the  Dublin  inn, 
were  gone  over  all   manner   of  questions 
relating    to    American    affairs,    religious, 
social,  political,  and  prospective. 
Dublin,  January  18,  i8g2. 


O  ggnglairt  anti  tfacfc.        39 


VI. 

AFTER  leaving  Dublin,  my  next 
point  was  near  Newry,  at  the 
hospitable  home  of  my  friend,  the  rector 
of  Donaghmore.  Years  had  elapsed  since 
we  walked  together  as  friends  in  Chi- 
cago, but  bright  and  fresh  was  the  cheery 
voice  which  greeted  us  on  the  railway 
platform  at  Goraghwood,  where  we  got 
off  our  train. 

The  snow  lingered  here  and  there,  as 
we  drove  four  miles  over  hill  and  dale  to 
our  destination,  the  way  enlivened  by 
many  a  question  of  places  and  friends  at 
the  other  side.  How  lovely  are  such 
meetings  of  friends;  tinged  thev  must  be 
with  a  certain  tone  of  sadness,  for  years 
have  flown,  and  changes  have  come,  and 
friends  are  spoken  of  who  cannot  answer 
ever  here  on  earth  again:  Adsum! 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Cowan  showed  us  the 
grey  outside  of  his  church,  with  its  tall 
square  tower  in  the  dim  light  of  evening, 


4°        Co  ©nglarrti  ant)  SSarfc. 


and  soon  thereafter  we  were  within  the 
warm  walls  of  the  rectory,  and  could 
enjoy  the  clamor  of  the  crows  outside  in 
-the  swaying  tree  tops.  Our  good  friend 
was  a  little  solicitous  about  our  comfort 
in  our  room,  and  suggested  for  us  a  fire, 
"  but,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  have  to  get  a 
crow's  nest  dug  out  of  the  chimney  first." 
Well,  of  course  I  could  not  be  so  selfish 
as  to  permit  such  an  interesting  domestic 
establishment  to  be  uprooted  for  my  lux- 
ury, so  I  did  without  the  fire,  and  learned 
the  knack  of  avoiding  the  sharp  chill  of 
linen  sheets  by  sleeping  boldly  next  the 
blankets.  In  the  morning  I  felt  no  ill 
from  the  cold  room — rather  the  reverse — 
helped  too  by  the  consciousness  of  not 
having  dealt  any  cruelty  to  animals. 

I  found  Donaghmore  church  and 
graveyard  a  most  interesting  study.  The 
church  is  on  the  site  of  an  ancient  found- 
ation of  the  Culdees,  and  the  site  itself, 
as  well  as  some  of  the  surrounding  fields, 
contains  many  curious  and  extensive  sub- 
terranean constructions.  These  interest- 
ing remains  of  either  a  warlike  or  ascetic 
use,  were  accidentally  discovered  in   low- 


<Eo  <!?itglanti  anti  *3arfe.         41 

ering  the  level  of  the  road  bed    near  the 
graveyard.     At  the  same  time  portions  of 
an    ancient     Celtic    cross    were    also    un- 
earthed,  and   through    the   pious   care  of 
the  rector,  aided  by    the  enlightened    and 
unprejudiced    spirit  of    the    parishioners, 
were   reverently   re-erected   on    their  an- 
cient site  close  by   the   church.       It  was 
found    that   the    main   entrance  to    those 
underground   passages   and    retreats   was 
at  the  foot  of  the  ancient  cross.     Here  an 
opening  was  left,  but  strange  to   say,  had 
to    be    closed   up   again,   because   of    the 
offensive  odors  coming  forth.     Think  of 
it,    for    over    eight     hundred     years    the 
stratum    of    earth    above   the    excavation 
has    been    used    for    purposes    of    burial, 
hence    the  doleful    foulness    which    finds 
escape   into    those    hollow    chambers    of 
the     past.     Perhaps     when    our   civiliza- 
tion has  attained  a  period    of   three  thou- 
sand  years,   and   we    are    face    to    face    in 
many    places     with    those    conditions    of 
mortality,  then  cremation   may    not   seem 
so   dreadful    or    unnatural.     Direct   earth 
burial  and  displacement  of    bones    after  a 
certain  number  of  years,  as  is  the  manner 


42         &o  ©nglantj  anb  $3acfc. 

in  France  and  other  countries,  seems  an 
improvement  on  the  reeking  graveyards 
to  be  met  with  in  these  old  lands. 

A  few  peaceful  days  passed  too  swiftly 
under  the  rectory  roof.  There  were  rides 
over  the  country,  beautiful  at  all  times. 
There  was  a  lovely  day  at  Dromantine, 
amid  the  glories  of  the  pleasure  grounds, 
even  in  winter  a  thing  of  beauty,  the 
arboretum,  the  pinetum,  the  greenhouses, 
the  old  gardener,  the  older  oaks  and 
beeches,  each  grey  and  grizzled  by  many 
a  winter,  and  then  there  was  the  splendid 
home,  the  ample  cheer,  and  the  hearty 
welcome. 

From  Donaghmore  I  turned  my  steps 
to  Belfast,  whither  I  went  with  my  good 
host,  and  had  the  privilege  of  attending  a 
meeting  of  the  clergy  of  the  united  dio- 
ceses of  Down,  Connor,  and  Dromore, 
convened  for  the  purpose  of  passing  reso- 
lutions of  condolence  and  respect,  in  con- 
nection with  the  death  of  Prince  Albert 
Victor.  It  was  a  splendid  body  of  clergy, 
there  are  over  two  hundred  in  the  united 
dioceses.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  the  love 
and  loyalty  which  found  expression  in 
every   face,  and  in  every   word  uttered. 


2To  (J?nglanti  ant  fciarfe.         43 

As  I  listened  I  thought  of  the  wolf  hound 
which  art  ever  depicts  couchant  by  the 
Irish  harp.  No  harsh  treatment  can 
blunt  the  sense  of  truthful  affection  in 
such  a  noble  creature,  and  so  from  the 
Irish  Church,  despoiled  and  betrayed  as 
it  has  been,  there  ever  comes  the  un- 
quenchable spirit  of  heartfelt  loyalty.  It 
was  good  to  be  there.  Barring  the  pur- 
pose of  the  meeting  I  could  almost  fancy 
myself  at  a  deanery  meeting  at  home  on 
an  extended  scale,  and  I  thought  too  I 
could  see  parallels  to  some  of  my  dear 
remembered  friends.  More  than  one 
good  brother  invited  me  to  stay  over  and 
preach,  but  I  was  bound  to  be  in  London 
op  the  twenty-fourth,  and  to  bring  that 
about  with  ease  I  had  to  leave  Greenore 
for  Holyhead  on  Friday  night.  Of  that 
journey  I  remember  the  gloomy  turn-out 
at  two  in  the  morning  at  Holyhead,  and 
the  dreary  wait  in  black  Holyhead  sta- 
tion until  six.  The  fancy  came  to  me  in 
the  stuffy  damp  atmosphere,  that  the  air 
of  England  was  breathed  over  and  over 
too  much,  its  very  vitality  exhausted,  but 
possibly  we  make  our  own  atmosphere, 
and  my    jaded   condition  made  me  a   bad 


44         Co  tPnglarrtJ  ana  13arfe. 


judge.  At  last  the  train  was  made  up, 
and  in  four  or  five  hours  we  were  whirled 
through  a  rain-sodden  country  into  the 
heart  of  London. 

On  the  way  there  was  much  to  see, 
but  the  best  of  all  things  were  the  Eng- 
lish themselves.  What  matters  it,  said  I, 
should  England  cease  to  be  an  agricul- 
tural country,  if  she  will  only  produce 
Englishmen,  she  will  bring  forth  one  of 
the  noblest  products  of  the  earth. 

London,  January  22,  i8q2. 


&o  lenglanti  anfi  13acfe.         45 


VII. 

I  HA VE  been  to  the  Abbey  this  morn- 
ing, wandering  down  there  leisurely, 
in  time  for  10  o'clock  Matins.  The  sun, 
like  a  great  ball  of  glistening  copper, 
shone  a  distinct  sphere  through  the  dim 
atmosphere,  and  a  rimy  frost  was  under 
foot.  On  and  on,  by  Westminster  Bridge, 
by  !St.  Margaret's,  and  into  the  Abbey 
by  the  restored  transept  entrance,  with 
the  beautiful  new  statue  of  the  Holy 
Mother  and  her  Divine  Child  adorning 
the  same;  one  thinks  of  Laud  and  St. 
Mary's,  Oxford,  as  one  enters. 

The  Abbey  is  always  impressive,  the 
aspiring  columns,  the  embowered  roof, 
the  luxuriant  reverence  of  the  fretted 
windows,  lift  one  above  the  fretful  im- 
pudence of  the  many  monuments  which 
too  often  encumber  the  glorious  Minster. 
But  we  pass  them  all  by  now,  and  await 
in  the  choir  the  coming  service.  The 
stalls  are  all  alight  with  candles  protected 


46         Co  ©nfllanb  ano  liacfc. 


by  glass  shades  from  the  many  draughts. 
Away  on  high,  as  one  looks  down  the 
nave,  glints  of  gold  break  in  from  out- 
side, while  all  else  in  the  venerated  space 
is  lost  in  gloom;  a  few  people  are  pres- 
ent, strangers,  like  myself,  and  others 
who,  evidently,  are  constant  comers.  At 
last  the  silence  is  broken  by  a  chanted 
Amen,  the  organ  wakes  up  to  its  har- 
mony, the  verger  draws  aside  the  cur- 
tains at  the  choir  entrance,  and  choris- 
ters, precentor,  canons,  and  dean,  all  take 
their  places.  There  is  no  attempt  at  dis- 
play or  form,  a  little  more  of  which 
might  take  away  from  the  straggling 
appearance  of  big  boys  and  little  boys, 
long  surplices  and  short  surplices,  all 
placed  and  put  on  without  any  apparent 
thought  of  order  or  beauty. 

The  service  was  sung  to  music  of  the 
old  English  school,  contrapuntal,  unsym- 
pathetic, and  cold ;  perhaps  from  this  very 
reason  more  suitable  to  a  choir  of  unim- 
passioned  voices.  The  mechanical  ictus 
of  a  musical  figure  is  more  capable  of 
being  well  taken  by  an  average  boy,  than 
any  tender  stress  or  expression  which 
emotion  and  good  taste   must   understand 


2To  <$nglairti  ant  iSarft.         47 

and  seize.  I  can  readily  believe  that  such 
rebounding  mechanical  music  could  be  as 
interesting  to  a  bov  as  a  game  of  hand 
ball  or  cricket.  It  hardly  suits,  how- 
ever, the  requirements  of  the  heart.  All 
was,  of  course,  beautiful,  and  the  voices 
harmonious,  with  a  kind  of  prim  pret- 
tiness  in  the  sweet  tones  of  the  re- 
sponces  floating  under  the  lofty  and  time- 
worn  arches.  One's  thoughts  stretched 
back  to  other  occupants  of  that  choir, 
whose  throats  were  lusty  and  strong 
with  the  sturdy  song  of  Gregory,  and 
whose  members  filled  up  every  stall. 
Now  we  have  dean  and  canons  few,  and  a 
little  double  ribband  of  choristers  filling  in 
with  white  a  few  feet  at  each  side  in  the 
splendid  length  of  that  matchless  choir. 

The  first  Lesson  was  read  by  Canon 
Farrar.  It  was  the  pathetic  story  of 
Joseph  sold  by  his  brethren,  and  the 
"  vesture  dipped  in  blood  "  brought  to  the 
heart-broken  Jacob.  A  touch  of  genuine 
pathos  rang  through  the  simple,  dignified 
leading,  and  I  was  near  enough  to  see  a 
dimness  in  the  eve  as  he  uttered  the 
words,  "  My  son  is  not."     It  was  beautiful. 

The  second    Lesson    was   read   by  the 


48         Ka  <&nglant>  anto  3i5acfe. 

dean.  It  was  the  account  of  our  Lord 
walking  upon  the  water,  and  St.  Peter's 
heroic  desire  to  come  to  Him  thereon. 
The  tone  was  different,  and  the  uncon- 
scious art  not  so  effective  as  in  Canon 
Farrar's  reading,  but  both  Lessons  were 
the  living  effective  part  of  the  service 
from  an  emotional  aspect. 

The  anthem  was  a  commonplace  affair 
by  Rogers,  I  think,  nothing  but  a  succes- 
sion of  sounds  on  the  words:  "  Ye  that 
by  night  stand  in  the  house  of  the  Lord." 
Not  quite  the  thing  for  Matins.  Ah,  if 
the  pathos  of  first  or  second  Lesson  had 
been  taken  up  in  the  anthem  and  empha- 
sized by  the  glory  of  good  music,  and 
that  good  choir,  how  well  it  would  have 
been!  It  might  have  been  the  sorrow  of 
Jacob,  or  the  aspiring  faith  of  Peter,  or 
the  assuring  voice  of  Christ,  but  instead 
it  was  a  selection  without  thought. 

The  service  over,  I  went  once  round 
the  Abbey  and  the  chapels  clustered 
about  the  incomparable  chapel  of  Henry 
the  Seventh.  What  thoughts  come  as  one 
goes  from  the  shrine  of  the  Confessor  to 
that  tomb  of  another  Edward,  which 
declares     the     stripling     to     be     "  Under 


2To  <!?nglanti  anfc  13acfc.         49 

Christ,  Head  of  the  Church  of  England." 
It  is  all  a  pathetic  jumble  of  fearful 
events.  Elizabeth  and  Mary  sleep  side  by 
side.  Mary  Stuart  rests  beyond.  Here 
altars  are  torn  away,  and  tombs  of  cour- 
tiers and  kings,  favorite  ladies  and  war- 
riors, take  the  place  of  the  saints.  Watt, 
of  steam-engine  fame,  in  colossal  marble, 
speaks  of  the  new  age  amid  the  crum- 
bling monuments  of  ancient  faith.  Mrs. 
Siddons,  in  the  grand  air  of  a  stage 
queen,  stands  where  the  altar  stood  in  St. 
Michael's  chapel.  What  a  change!  So 
it  is  on  every  hand.  Above  are  the  glo- 
rious arches  which  looked  down  on  the 
ages  of  faith,  around  are  the  ashes  of  the 
holy  dead,  but  encrusted  over  all  is  the 
pride  and  pomp  of  civil  and  political  life. 
William  Pitt  dominates  in  marble  the 
great  entrance,  while  Fox  continues  ever 
dying  near  by,  in  colossal  effigy.  It  is  all 
a  glorious  pantheon  of  England's  material 
greatness  and  achievement  in  controversy, 
statesmanship,  war,  research,  letters,  and 
arts.  It  makes  the  heart  throb  and  the 
blood  to  tingle  to  wander  under  the  sacred 
arches  of  Westminster,  whether  one 
thinks  of  the  past  or  the  present. 


50         £0  (Pnglanti  anti  iSack. 

In  a  little  enclosed  space  to  the  right 
of  the  main  entrance,  stands  a  monument 
and  bust  of  Keble.  It  is  a  gem  in  de- 
sign, of  jewelled  marbles,  enclosing  the 
sweet  face  of  the  poet  of  the  "  Christian 
Year."  Opposite  are  busts  of  Kingsley 
and  Frederick  Denison  Maurice,  but 
these  are  placed,  not  looking  out  to  the 
altar,  as  Keble  does,  but  looking  the  other 
way.  I  could  not  but  fancy  that  the  soul 
of  Keble  was  thus  looking  out  over  the 
Abbey  and  the  English  Church,  and 
waiting  and  hoping  for  better  things. 
With  slow  steps  I  wandered  on,  over 
the  graves  of  mighty  men,  out  into  the 
crowded  thoroughfare,  on  by  Downing 
street  and  the  Horse  Guards,  by  White- 
hall and  Trafalgar  Scpiare,  by  Pall  Mall 
and  Regent  street,  until  I  found  myself 
in  the  church  of  St.  Thomas,  where,  in 
the  silence  of  the  sanctuary  and  the  in- 
cense-laden atmosphere,  I  had  a  good 
pray  and  a  good  rest,  in  the  stillness,  after 
my  week-day  morning  in  the  Abbey. 

London,  January  23,  iSq2. 


fto  e-nglant  anti  iSarft.         51 


VIII. 

WHEN  one  has  only  a  few  Sun- 
days in  London,  it  is  extremely 
difficult  to  choose  just  where  to  go.  Well, 
on  this  occasion  I  gave  myself  dispensa- 
tion, and  went  on  my  first  Sunday  to  the 
Brompton  Oratory,  to  see  what  it  was 
like;  so  soon  too  after  Manning's  death 
a  certain  feeling  impelled  me  that  pos- 
sibly there  might  have  been  some  allu- 
sion to  him.  There  was  none,  however. 
The  Oratory  is  a  beautiful  structure  in 
the  style  of  St.  Paul's,  smaller,  but  much 
more  ornate,  gold  and  glitter  is  on  every 
hand.  At  every  convenient  place  in  the 
graceful  structure  there  is  an  altar,  and 
each  altar  is  fully  decorated;  every  cor- 
ner is  utilized,  even  the  dark  space  under 
the  gallery,  which  holds  the  choir  and 
organ,  is  turned  into  a  gloomy  Calvary, 
with  the  sacred  Sufferer  in  a  position  of 
intense  agony,  the  thieves  in  contortions 
on  either  side,  and  Mary  and  .St.  John   at 


52         Eo  (England  anb  ISacfc. 


either  hand.     The  high  altar  has  a  grand 
effect,  with  a  suspended  baldachino  sim- 
ulating in  metal  a  rich  tapestry.     The  use 
of   so    much    gorgeous    marble    and    gilt 
ornamentation  might  be  called  overdone, 
at  least  to  our   taste.     Punctually    at  the 
stroke  of  eleven,  the  officiants  entered,  and 
the  organ  began.    The  whole  service  was 
marked  by  the  most  careful  and   graceful 
attention    to    detail,  the    vestments    were 
never  awry,  all  was  spick  and  span,  clean 
and  neat,  and  well    done.      Italian    it    was 
in   spirit  and    form,  but   it  was   done   by 
Englishmen,    and    done    perfectly.      The 
acolytes  were  men  and  well  trained,  while 
priest,  deacon,  and  sub-deacon  showed  in 
every  movement,  thought,  reverence,  and 
dignity.      It  was  an  object  lesson    in    pro- 
priety, surely  it  was  not  out    of   place    to 
be  thus  careful  and  absorbed  in  the  wor- 
ship of  God.     My  mind  reverted  to  much 
elsewhere     that    was    ever    the     reverse, 
where     individual    whim    and     untutored 
awkwardness  marred  obvious    propriety. 
I  was  especially  touched   with   the   entire 
naturalness     and    fitness    of    the    Kiss    of 
Peace,    given    and     received     before    the 
Communion  of  the  priest.   I  wonder  such 


<JTo  tPnglanti  a  nil  $3ark.         53 

an  ancient,  beautiful,  and  fitting  symbol- 
ism has  not  been  restored,  as  it  easily 
might,  to  our  own  use. 

The  music  was  exquisitely  rendered. 
The  choir  of  men  and  boys  occupy  a  gal- 
lery well  down  in  the  nave,  and  are  not 
seen.  Hence  all  the  necessary  direction 
of  a  conductor  can  be  used  without  dis- 
traction or  any  unedifying  effect.  I  could 
see  from  where  I  sat,  the  incessant  action 
which  he  kept  oyer  the  music,  minutely 
guiding  every  phrase.  From  this  cause 
the  Gregorian  numbers  were  given  with 
a  tender  delicacy  and  careful  expression, 
quite  surprising,  and  the  more  elaborate 
figured  music  of  the  Mass  was  rendered 
with  positive  passion.  A  grand  adult 
voice  sang  an  offertory  from  Gounod. 

The  sermon  was  a  plain,  straight-for- 
ward, teaching  sermon  upon  Confession, 
based  upon  the  words  of  the  Gospel, 
"  Lord,  if  Thou  wilt,  Thou  canst  make 
me  clean.1'  The  church  was  quite  well 
tilled,  and  the  congregation  seemed  decid- 
edly English.  The  Italian  mission,  as 
Archbishop  Benson  calls  the  Roman 
Church  in  England,  is  but  a  small  thing 
compared  to    the    great    Church    of    the 


54        2To  ©nglanfc  anfc  33acfe. 

land.  I  felt  this  as  I  stood  a  few  hours 
later  under  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's,  and 
heard  and  saw  that  vast  congregation 
heartily  joining  and  intelligently  joining, 
in  the  psalms,  and  prayers,  and  hymns. 
I  felt  too,  that,  as  one  day  is  with  the 
Lord  as  a  thousand  years,  and  a  thousand 
years  as  one  day,  so  in  His  good  Provi- 
dence there  may  be  work  for  both 
Churches  to  do  for  each  other,  until  that 
time  shall  come  "  that  they  all  may  be 
one."  There  is  a  vast  movement  going 
on  among  all  Christians,  which  is  filled 
with  a  purpose  we  may  not  dare  to  limit, 
or  to  measure.  "  Yes,"  I  heard  a  gentle- 
man of  a  clerical  cut  sav  to  another  of 
like  appearance,  one  week-day  in  St. 
Paul's,  "  a  great  revolution  in  opinion  and 
practice  is  passing  over  the  Presbyterians 
in  England  and  Scotland."  "  Yes,"  said 
the  other,  "  we  find  the  same  in  Amer- 
ica." They  were  two  Presbyterian  min- 
isters comparing  notes  under  the  dome  of 
St.  Paul's,  and  before  the  reredos,  with 
the  carven  Christ,  His  Blessed  Mother, 
and  the  saints  thereon.  "  That  they  may 
be  one ! " 

Canon  Scott  Holland  was  the  preacher. 


2To  i£nglant)  ant)  $3acfc.         55 

It  was  a  delight  to  watch  his  intent, 
clear  face,  and  listen  to  his  impassioned, 
grandly  delivered  sermon.  Of  every 
service  at  St.  Paul's  one  can  only  repeat 
phrases  of  praise.  This  was  as  all  the 
rest,  splendid. 

London,  January  24,  iSg2. 


56         Co  ©nglant)  anti  Itfacfc. 


IX. 


IT  was  my  good  fortune  to  be  present 
at  the  patronal  festival  of  St.  Paul's 
cathedral.  At  ten  o'clock  we  had  Matins 
and  High  Celebration,  Canon  Scott  Hol- 
land being  Celebrant.  It  was  a  glorious 
function.  The  service  was  sung  by  the 
ordinary  choir,  augmented  in  the  Com- 
munion service  by  a  full  orchestra.  The 
Mass  was  Weber  in  E  flat.  I  was  some- 
what curious  to  hear  such  music,  thus 
rendered.  The  general  impression  was 
good,  the  orchestra  giving  life  and  ex- 
pression to  the  boys'  voices.  In  all  the 
massive  choral  effects,  it  was  most  devo- 
tional; but  such  music  illustrates  the  ex- 
treme difficulty  of  reaching  that  veiy  lit- 
tle which  constitutes  perfection,  or  the 
tolerated  approach  thereto.  I  wish  I 
could  remember  what  Browning  says  on 
this  matter,  but  I  am  away  from  books, 
and  cannot  call  it  to  mind.     Those  who 


Eo  <£nglanfc  ant  13arfc.         57 

know  will  remember,  and  those  who  do 
not  know  will  never  mind. 

When  Matins  were  over,  I  wish  you 
could  experience  the  effect  of  the  sudden 
burst  of  orchestral  music  from  the  hidden 
instrumentalists,  as  they  played  the  pre- 
lude to  the  Introit,  Baden  Powell's  "Hail, 
Festal  Day."  It  gave  me  a  choking  sen- 
sation of  happiness  and  inspiration.  The 
service,  Weber  in  E  flat,  adapted  to 
Anglican  use,  and  omitting  Benedictus 
and  Agnus  Dei,  was  then  sung.  One 
must  confess  that  in  the  fugal  work,  and 
in  the  solo  soprano  parts,  there  was  some 
weakness,  but  this  arose  more  from  the 
character  of  the  music,  which  was  never 
wril ten  for  boys'  voices,  than  from  any 
want  of  skill  in  the  choristers.  The  won- 
der is  they  did  so  well,  without  the  guid- 
ance of  a  baton  and  the  prompting  of  a 
conductor.  A  Salutaris  Hostia,hy  Gou- 
nod, was  sung  after  Consecration,  in  Eng- 
lish of  course,  and  was  most  inspiring. 
Why,  I  could  not  help  asking,  should  such 
difficult  music  be  sung  while  kneeling? 
It  is  an  added  strain  upon  the  choristers, 
which  is  not  required.  The  people  kneel, 
but,  according  to  ancient  custom,  the  choir 


58         2To  i&nglano  anti  $3acfc. 

should  stand  at  all  times  when  singing, 
except  in  Requiems,  at  the  Agnus  Dei, 
and  on  a  few  special  occasions  of  peni- 
tence. For  the  sake  of  the  teaching,  a 
hymn  of  adoration,  to  very  simple  music, 
might  be  sung  kneeling,  but  to  sing  elab- 
orate Mass  music  in  Sanctus,  Benedictus, 
and  Agnus  Dei,  on  one's  knees,  makes 
a  difficult  thing  still  more  difficult,  and 
needlessly  so. 

Taking  the  service  as  a  whole,  the 
most  perfect  vocalization  was  in  the  sev- 
enfold Amen  of  Sir  John  Stainer,  sung 
after  Consecration  and  the  Blessing.  One 
might  wish  that  he  never  should  hear  it 
anywhere  else,  except  in  St.  Paul's,  Lon- 
don, for  it  would  seem  that  there  only  are 
its  rapturous  cadences  to  be  heard  in  per- 
fection. 

I  must  add  about  the  service,  that  the 
altar  lights  were  lit,  and  that  there  was  no 
pause  after  the  prayer  for  Christ's  Church 
Militant;  no  withdrawal  of  the  people  at 
that  point;  and  that  the  vergers  seemed 
to  limit  the  number  of  communicants. 
This  great  service  and  grand  congrega- 
tion was  but  the  prelude  to  the  popular 
and    splendid    function    at    four    o'clock, 


Co  (Snglanfi  anti  $3acfc.         59 

when  Evensong  and  the  larger  portion  of 
Mendelssohn's  St.  Paul  was  rendered  by 
a  body  of  four  hundred  voices  and  a 
full  orchestra. 

I  had  the  good  fortune  to  find  a  spe- 
cial nook  of  vantage  near  the  choir,  by 
the  kindness  of  one  of  old  St.  Paul's  boys 
whom  I  met,  and  so  I  could  see  the  quiet 
way  in  which  that  large  body  of  singers 
took  their  places,  instrumentalists  and  all. 
These,  arrayed,  it  must  be  confessed,  in 
rather  Falstaffian  surplices,  of  bedgown 
shape  and  ancient  hue,  some  of  them, 
dropped  into  their  places  by  twos  and 
threes  as  they  got  ready;  after  them,  the 
vast  body  of  bass  voices  at  one  side,  and 
the  tenors  at  the  other,  then  the  boys 
from  the  Chapel  Royal, Westminster,  and 
elsewhere.  All  seated,  the  regular  choir 
of  St.  Paul's  and  the  clergy  entered  the 
stalls.  There  was  no  attempt  at  proces- 
sional singing,  and  the  quiet  of  the  ar- 
rangement made  amends  for  the  omission, 
if  such  it  was.  When  the  officiating 
clergy  reached  their  places,  the  whole- 
vast  congregation,  filling  the  enormous 
spaces  of  St.  Paul's,  rose  to  their  feet,  all 
knelt    for   the    moment  of  silent    prayer, 


60         2To  (Snglantj  anti  43acfc. 

and  then,  with  this  most  impressive  pre- 
lude, the  service  went  on.  The  Psalms 
were  special,  and  sung  by  the  regular 
choir  alone,  all  the  voices  in  a  thunderous 
unison  coming  in  with  full  organ  and 
orchestra  on  each  Gloria  Patri.  Oh, 
how  glorious  and  thrilling  it  was!  One 
would  listen  to  the  tender  harmonies  of 
the  perfect  chanting,  and  await  with  a 
pleasure  which  was  almost  a  pain,  the 
mighty  crash  of  voices,  organ  and  orches- 
tra. All  evidently  did  not  feel  the  artistic 
effect  of  this  prepared  contrast  as  I  did, 
for  over  the  consrresration  could  be  heard 
the  sot  to  voce  murmuring  of  the  people 
as  they  joined  the  choir  while  chanting 
the  familiar  Psalms  they  had  learned  to 
love.  How  much  there  is  in  this  learn- 
ing to  love  the  Psalms,  and  this,  in  a 
most  marked  way,  is  the  privilege  of  the 
Anglican  Church.  The  JMagnijicat  and 
Nunc  Dimittis  were  by  Martin,  in  A. 
The  composer  himself,  the  talented  suc- 
cessor  of  Sir  John  Stainer  at  the  organ 
of  St.  Paul's,  conducted  them  and  the 
rest  of  the  service  from  an  estrade  in  the 
centre,  but  concealed  somewhat  from  the 
people  by  the  huge  lectern.   He  was  most 


Co  <£nglanli  ano  i3acfe.         61 

reverent  and  devout  in  his  every  act,  and 
my  heart  quite  went  out  to  him  as  he 
knelt  down  for  the  versicles  and  prayers, 
conducting  in  that  attitude  with  effect  and 
dignity  every  cadence  and  amen. 

But  now  the  third  collect  is  ended  and 
the  solemn  music  begins.  All  are  seated, 
and  the  overture  to  St.  Paul  is  rendered 
by  the  orchestra,  then  follows  without 
break  or  pause,  that  portion  of  the  ora- 
torio from  the  conversion  to  the  final 
chorus.  I  never  heard  before  such  sing- 
ing of  the  duet,  "  Now  we  are  ambassa- 
dors," or  the  air,  "O  God,  have  merer," 
or  the  grand  choruses,  "  How  great  is  the 
depth,"  and  all  the  others  in  that  portion 
of  the  composition.  There  was  not  the 
slightest  flavor  of  the  concert  room.  It 
was  religious,  through  and  through,  and 
every  singer  seemed  to  know  the  music 
as  one  does  "  Old  Hundred."  So  there 
was  a  fervor, a  subdued  power  which  con- 
scious power  can  alone  give.  No  fuss,  no 
strain,  no  effort,  but  reverent,  good,  hon- 
est, loving  singing.  I  have  heard  our  own 
societies  sing  in  the  Auditorium,  and  I  am 
still  proud  of  such  a  Chicago  develop- 
ment, but  it  was  artificial;  I  must  even  say 


62         3To  i£nglairtr  an*  Ji3acfc. 

it  sounded  commonplace,  when  compared 
to  the  effect  of  the  music  at  this  festival 
at  St.  Paul's.  The  Auditorium,  the 
singers  in  evening  dress,  the  varied  cos- 
tumes of  the  ladies,  the  orchestra  en  evi- 
dence, the  people  in  their  paid-for  places, 
the  applause — how  different  from  the 
damp-stained  walls  of  St.  Paul's,  the 
lofty  dome,  the  memories  of  centuries,  the 
vast  body  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men 
in  the  gloomv,  half-lit  spaces  of  the  vast 
cathedral,  the  constant  reverent  silence, 
the  great  choir  and  orchestra  in  one  mass 
of  white,  the  vested  bishop  and  many  dig- 
nitaries, and  the  great  altar  of  St.  Paul's 
— a  dominating  mystic  presence  over  all, 
with  its  lights  aflame— made  up  a  picture 
and  an  effect  not  easily  forgotten. 

And  all  this  in  London,  in  the  heart 
of  the  world's  trade,  in  the  very  court  of 
Mammon — all  this,  all  this!  I  thought 
and  wondered  if  we  shall  ever  have  in 
Chicago  such  a  glorious  structure  as  St. 
Paul's,  and  such  a  gathering  on  the  festi- 
val of  the  Conversion  of  the  Apostle  to 
the  Gentiles.  Confident  I  am  that  such 
a  possibility  would  be  the  only  fitting 
crown  of  glorv  for  the  future  London  of 


Co  ©nglano  ano  iSatk,        63 

our  mighty  West,  an  assertion  of  spiritual 
reality  arising  out  of  and  consecrating 
all  material  greatness. 

I  stood  outside  and  watched  the  vast 
congregation  melt  away  into  the  wonder- 
ful,  ever  more  wonderful,  London  life. 
The  soot-stained  columns  of  St.  Paul's 
looked  grandly  down,  subliming  the  very 
filth  of  London ;  above  were  the  clang- 
ing peals,  more  touching  to  me  than 
Wagner's  bells  in  "  Parsifal,"  for  they 
sounded  not  upon  a  mimic  stage,  but  in 
the  very  heart  of  all  modern  life,  telling 
of  a  IIolv  Grail  which  each  must,  if  he 
would  truly  live,  forever  seek.  St.  Paul's 
words  remain:  "God  forbid  that  I 
should  glory  save  in  the  Cross  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  by  which  the  world  is 
crucified  unto  me,  and  I  unto  the  world." 
What,  if  when  one  passes  out  of  this  great 
gathering  and  sees  before  his  eyes  again, 
want  and  vice,  as  see  them  he  will,  God 
has  witness  in  all  things,  and  the  cross 
which  dominates  from  the  top  of  St. 
Paul's  is  symbol  of  the  triumph  which 
the  Cross  will  surely  bring — and  so  the 
Festival  for  me  closes. 

London,  January  2j,  iSg2. 


64         £o  tPnglanto  anti  13acfc. 


X. 


WHAT  contrasts  may  come  to  one 
in  London  in  the  ordinary  inci- 
dents of  an  unpremeditated  stroll!  After 
breakfast  I  went  to  the  National  Gallery 
and  there  feasted  my  eyes  on  one  of  the 
best  collections  of  pictures  in  Europe.  It 
is  all  free  as  air,  and  every  picture  plainly 
marked,  so  that  all  may  understand  as 
they  go  along.  It  would  be  tedious  to 
detail  this  or  that  picture,  and  many  of 
them  are  so  well  known  by  print  and 
photograph,  that  it  is  like  seeing  an  old 
friend  in  a  magnificent  new  dress  when 
one  comes  on  the  great  original  in  this 
wonderful  gallery.  Why,  one  exclaims, 
there  is  Landseer's  "High  and  Low 
Life,"  there  is  his  "  Dignity  and  Impu- 
dence," there  is  one  of  Constable's  great 
landscapes,  there  is  the  Hobbema  we  have 
learned  to  love  in  etchings,  there  is 
Frith's  "Derby  Day,"  and  there  are 
Turner's  glorious  dreams   of  beautv   and 


2To  u?nglano  ant  ^acfc.         65 

mystery,  the  "  Old  Temeraire,"  and  the 
"  Landing  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,"  and 
so  with  all  the  old  friends  of  friends  of 
art,  Etty,  and  Mulready,  and  Maclise  and 
others  without  number.  But  all  this  is 
but  a  moiety  of  what  is  yet  beyond  and 
beyond.  Raphael's  incomparable  Madon- 
nas, Botticelli's  truthful  and  reverential 
creations — there  they  all  are,  gleaming 
welcome  to  our  satiated  eyes — Titian, 
Francia,  Orcagna,  all  royal  names  in  art, 
until  we  come  to  their  worthy  peer,  Ros- 
setti's  Annunciation.  What  a  pity  it  is 
that  one  will  get  .tired  in  a  picture  gal- 
lery, but  tire  you  will,  from  the  very 
glory  of  the  place,  so  one  leaves  with  a 
painful,  weary  sense  of  almost  disrespect- 
ful regard  for  all  that  is  left  behind  un- 
known and  unlooked  at. 

Go,  one  must,  but  ere  I  went  I  deter- 
mined to  give  one  look  at  least  at  the 
Turner  drawings.  When  I  was  last  in 
London,  they  were  housed  in  a  dark 
basement,  and  half  hidden  in  cabinets,  but 
now  they  have  a  bright  lodgement  in 
many  well-lighted  rooms,  and  all  are 
framed  upon  the  spacious  walls,  and  well 
they  deserve  it.      If  you  ever,  dear  reader, 


66         Co  iJrnglantJ  anti  Itfacfc. 

come  to  London,  be  sure  you  visit  the 
Turner  drawings.  There  you  see  the 
very  soul  of  the  man  at  work,  and  if  you 
have  read  Ruskin,  you  will  understand 
better  than  ever  before  his  enthusiastic 
criticisms  of  Turner.  You  will  be  fascin- 
ated every  moment  of  your  stay.  It  may 
be  by  the  exquisite  finish  of  sepia  draw- 
ings for  engravings,  or  the  grand  jotting 
down  of  Alpine  scenery  with  a  few 
blotches  of  color,  and  a  minute  touch  here 
and  there  of  pen  or  pencil,  or  it  may  be 
the  perfect  effect  of  complete  transcrip- 
tion accomplished  with  a  simplicity  that 
absolutely  dazzles. 

After  leaving  the  National  Gallery,  we 
walked  off  to  number  thirty-two  Little 
Queen  Street,  the  office  of  The  Church 
Times.  Here  we  found  sad  affliction. 
Only  the  day  before,  Mr.  George  J. 
Palmer,  the  founder  and  proprietor  of 
that  excellent  church  paper,  had  breathed 
his  last.  We  were  received  with  great 
kindness  by  his  son,  but  after  expressing 
our  most  earnest  sympathy  we  quickly 
withdrew.  With  a  sense  of  personal  loss 
we  came  out  into  the  busy  street,  think- 
ing of  the  many  years  the  weekly  visit  of 


Eo  (Pnglanti  an*  ISacfe.         67 

The  Church  Times  had  been  to  us  as  the 
visit  of  a  friend.  On  and  on  we  went 
and  soon  found  ourselves  at  Guildhall. 
The  great  hall  itself  where  civic  ban- 
quets are  wont  to  be  held,  a  grand  gothic 
structure,  gave  us  much  to  admire,  while 
we  watched  the  bewigged  lawyers  and 
their  clients  walking  about.  From  this 
seething  stream  of  life  it  was  a  pleasant 
change  to  visit  the  Free  Library,  and 
see  the  "  pale  clerks  "  bending  over  their 
books;  and  further  on,  to  walk  through 
the  museum  and  see  objects  of  continued 
interest;  among  others,  a  collection  of  im- 
pressions of  the  great  seals  of  England 
from  seven  hundred  and  fifty-seven  to  the 
present  date.  From  Guildhall  another 
vague  stroll  brought  us  to  London 
Bridge,  over  it,  and  back  again.  Leaning 
over  the  parapets  one  could  watch  the 
swift  current  of  the  receding  tide,  the 
flying  barges,  and  the  forest  of  shipping 
further  on,  or  turning  to  the  living  tor- 
rent on  the  bridge,  one  might  study  its 
awful  stream  for  hours.  On  every  hand 
life  is  teeming.  It  is  not  merely  the  great 
throng  upon  the  enormous  bridge,  but 
far  beneath,  at  each  side  of  the  great  ap- 


68         Eo  (irnglanti  anfc  i3ark. 

proaches,  other  throngs  have  place.  You 
look  down  into  Lower  Thames  .Street, 
and  there  another  type  of  being  seems  to 
exist;  fishermen  and  dock-hands,  and 
stevedores,  with  warehouses  and  gin 
shops  on  every  hand.  In  the  midst  of 
all  this  bustle  and  grime  stood  a  church. 
What  must  it  be  to  work  in  such  a  place; 
great  the  labor,  and  great  the  reward. 
Down  I  must  go  into  the  midst  of  the 
turmoil,  and  go  I  did.  It  seems  almost 
wrong  to  be  lounging  round  among  such 
toilers,  wrong  to  merely  gaze  at  them, 
but  if  my  attitude  and  face  expressed 
what  my  heart  felt,  then  my  sympathy 
and  respect  for  them  would  secure  me 
respect  also. 

Great  lines  of  men  were  toiling  out 
from  the  ships  over  plank  after  plank,  up 
ladders  and  on  to  wasrons  far  down  the 
street,  each  man  with  a  box  of  oranges 
resting  on  his  bent  head  and  shoulders. 
Ah,  the  burden,  and  the  slippery  pave- 
ment, and  the  constant  strain;  and  yet 
more  sad  were  the  idle  groups  that  looked 
wistfully  at  the  happy  burdened  ones. 

With  a  sigh  I  turned  once  more  home- 
ward, past    the    monument    of  the    great 


5To  UrttglanTj  antJ  iSacfc.         69 

London  fire,  on  westward  until  I  reached 
the  Embankment,  with  its  calm  and 
beauty,  such  a  happy  contrast  to  the 
toilers  of  London  Bridge  and  its  envi- 
rons, and  to  the  glitter  and  bustle  of  the 
Strand.  It  was  dark  once  more,  the  lights 
gleamed  out  in  their  curving  lines  by  the 
river.  Under  the  arches  of  Waterloo 
Bridge,  one  could  get  a  glimpse,  in  dim 
perspective,  of  the  Palace  of  Westminster 
and  the  Abbey.  It  was  all  undefined  and 
grand,  like  some  stately  music  of  Beet- 
hoven. A  livelier  measure  would  typify 
the  Strand,  while  the  titanic  sound  of 
storm,  or  the  crashing  of  the  waves  upon 
the  shore,  might  give  figure  of  the  toil 
and  labor  at  London  Bridge.  Thus  my 
day  had  contrasts  enough,  in  its  almost 
haphazard  flow. 

London,  January  sS,  iSQs. 


7o        Eo  ©rtglant)  anti  $3acfe. 


XL 

MY  second  Sunday  in  London  was  a 
busy  day.  It  began  with  a  Cele- 
bration at  the  Abbey  at  eight  o'clock.  The 
morning  was  wet  and  gloomy,  and,  for 
London  the  streets  almost  deserted.  It  is 
not  far  to  walk  from  Northumberland  Ave- 
nue to  Westminster,  and  wet  as  the  morn- 
ing was,  he  would  be  rather  dull  who  could 
notice  it  during  such  a  walk,  past  White- 
hall, where  the  first  Charles  shed  his 
blood,  past  the  Horse  Guards  with  all  they 
tell  of  British  martial  glory,  past  Down- 
ing Street  and  all  that  it  hints  of  political 
life,  and  on  to  the  great  Abbey  itself, 
looming  up  in  the  mist  and  smoke.  We 
are  at  the  door  and  enter  what  seems  the 
empty  building.  There  are  perhaps  twenty 
people  present,  almost  unseen  in  the  dark- 
ness. At  each  side  of  the  altar  are  two 
standard  candles  alight,  but  the  lights 
proper  on  the  altar  itself  are  not  lit. 
Presently,   preceded   by   a    verger,   there 


Co  ©nglanb  anfi  i5arfc.         7* 

enters  a  priest  who  wins  my  heart  at  once 
hv  his  reverent  demeanor.  Sweetly  he 
utters  every  word,  his  soft,  clear  voice 
without  effort  fills  the  space  of  the  choir. 
It  is  a  treat  to  look  at  him  and  hear  the 
purity  of  his  English  tongue.  The  great 
roof    above    is   onlv    dimlv   visible    in  the 

J 

darkness,  and  down  from  its  unseen 
depths  floats  at  intervals  the  cooing  of  a 
dove.  It  comes  so  weirdly  and  mystically, 
like  a  voice  of  love  from  some  buried 
past.  Again  and  again  it  floats  out,  pos- 
sibly not  one  there  noticed  it  but  myself, 
but  I  could  not  help  fancying  all  sorts  of 
things  about  it.  It  was  my  distraction  in 
the  service.  I  thought  how  fearful  it 
must  sound  in  the  empty  dark  church, 
and  then  my  longing  thoughts  went  out 
to  the  delightful  horror  of  being  in  the 
Abbey  all  alone,  and  in  the  dark,  and  lis- 
tening to  it. 

As  the  service  went  on  I  conquered 
this  distraction  and  when  it  came  time  to 
kneel  in  that  sacred  place,  I  could  not 
keep  back  the  tears.  As  I  turned  from 
the  altar  with  downcast  eyes  and  looked 
at  the  rugged  pavement,  worn  by  time 
and    many    a    footstep,   I    thought   of    the 


72         <Ho  ©nglanti  ana  13ack. 

myriads  through  all  those  years,  comforted 
and  refreshed  there  by  the  Body  and 
Blood  of  Christ. 

At  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  was 
due  at  St.  Mary's  Hospital,  Paddington, 
where  I  assisted  the  chaplain  and  made  a 
short  address.  The  hospital  is  one  of  the 
smaller  London  institutions,  but  has  an 
enormous  number  of  beds,  and  was  to  my 
eyes  a  huge  affair.  The  chapel  was  well 
appointed  and  the  service  choral. 

The  chaplain  kindly  piloted  me  to  the 
nearest  interesting  church,  and  selected 
that  one,  as  he  said,  "  in  which  Phillips 
Brooks  used  to  preach"  —  Christ  Church, 
Lancaster  Gate.  I  found  a  grand  new 
church,  choral  Matins  and  Litany,  plain 
music  and  good  choir,  with  an  enormous 
congregation.  The  whole  tone  was  of 
that  splendid  style  which  puts  the  hand- 
some forward  rather  than  the  dogmatic. 
The  altar  was  vested,  had  cross  and  flow- 
ers, but  no  lights,  and  the  reredos  and 
chancel  were  resplendent  with  black  mar- 
ble pillars  and  much  color  decoration. 
The  preacher  was  from  India,  and  in  his 
sermon  made  some  startling  statements. 
I  remember  in  particular  two   of    them: 


Co  ©nglanti  ano  idacfe.         73 

one,  that  India,  under  British  rule  con- 
tained one-fifth  of  the  people  in  the 
world,  the  other  was  that  ohscene  litera- 
ture, which  would  not  be  suffered  in 
England,  has  freest  distribution  in  India, 
and  that  the  British  government,  when 
asked  to  prohibit  it,  decline  to  do  so,  for 
this  reason,  that  if  thev  condemned  the 
obscenity  in  such  literature,  thev  would 
be  condemning  similar  obscenity  existing 
in  the  Hindoo  religion.  Thus,  as  they 
cannot  by  treaty,  interfere  with  tbe  re- 
ligion of  the  Hindoos,  even  indirectly, 
they  are  estopped  from  any  action  what- 
ever touching  the  pernicious  literature 
mentioned. 

The  service  over  I  walked  across  Ken- 
sington Gardens  to  the  Albert  Memorial, 
and  in  this,  my  third  or  fourth  view  of  it, 
saw  more  than  ever  to  admire.  It  is  the 
apotheosis  of  wifely  devotion.  Prince 
Albert  in  gilt  bronze,  sits  enthroned  under 
a  gorgeous  canopy  of  mosaic  work, 
around  him  are  symbolic  figures  of  the 
arts  and  sciences,  underneath  is  a  great 
frieze  of  life  size  figures,  extending  round 
the  four  sides  of  the  massive  base.  In 
this  grand  series  are  all  the  great  lights  in 


74         Co  (£nglano  ano  15acfe. 


architecture,  painting,  sculpture,  music  and 
letters.  It  would  be  a  liberal  education  to 
know  the  life  and  works  of  each  man 
there  depicted.  Twice  I  walked  around 
the  living  yet  ever  still  procession,  and  yet 
lingering,  turned  away.  A  rare  skill  has 
been  used  in  the  selection  and  the  sculp- 
ture. Yet  further  down  the  great  sweep 
of  steps,  at  each  outer  corner,  stand  a 
colossal  group,  representing  Europe,  Asia, 
Africa  and  America,  while  opposite"  the 
whole  structure  rises  the  Albert  Hall. 
Getting  on  top  of  a  bus  I  got  into  the 
neighborhood  of  my  hotel,  near  Trafal- 
gar Square,  and  had  a  little  well-earned 
rest. 

Three  o'clock  found  me  at  the  Abbey 
once  more  to  hear  Farrar  preach.  The 
choir  and  transepts  were  crowded,  many 
standing-  through  the  whole  service.  The 
usual  entrance  was  so  blocked  up,  that, 
availing  myself  of  a  knowledge  of  how 
the  land  lay,  I  went  round  to  Poet's  Cor- 
ner and  got  a  good  seat  opposite  the  pul- 
pit, though  quite  out  of  sight  of  the 
singers.  This  rather  gave  piquancy  to 
the  effect  of  the  music,  which  was  all  that 
one  could  wish.     The  sermon  was  on  the 


Eo  (Pnglanti  ant)  $$ack.         75 

ninth  Commandment,  and  such  a  sermon! 
It  flowed  on  like  a  mighty  stream,  but 
vet  not  deep  enough  to  be  without  broils 
and  rapids.  It  was  a  sharp  cut  against 
vituperation,  while  it  was  in  itself  a  most 
splendid  specimen  of  the  same.  The 
Wesleys  and  Oliver  Cromwell  were  held 
up  as  persecuted  saints  among  a  list  of 
others,  grouped  with  like  eclecticism.  In 
mentioning  also  the  sufferings  of  Maurice 
and  Stanley  for  the  truth,  they  were 
spoken  of  as  the  victims  of  the  "  acrid 
orthodoxy  of  religious  opinion."  One 
could  not  help  thinking  of  Neale,  Keble, 
Pusey,  Newman,  and  many  others. 

After  the  service  at  the  Abbey,  Dr. 
Bridge  played  gloriously  on  the  great 
organ,  while  the  congregation  flowed  out 
into  the  nave,  walking  about,  looking  at 
the  monuments,  or  standing  in  groups 
listening  to  the  grand  music.  That  over, 
soon  all  dispersed. 

But  the  day  was  not  yet  over  for  me. 
It  was  dusk,  I  did  not  feel  tired,  and  a 
leisurely  stroll  down  the  Embankment 
toward  St.  Paul's,  where  I  intended  to  he 
at  seven  o'clock,  seemed  just  the  thin-. 
It  was  pleasant  to   watch   the  children   at 


76         Co  (Pnglano  an*  ItSacfc. 

play — the  London  children,  on  the  one 
day  thev  can  play  in  the  streets  without 
being  in  danger  of  their  lives.  They 
used  their  opportunity  well. 

At  last  St.  Paul's  was  reached.  How 
solemn  and  still  it  all  seemed.  The  church 
all  dark,  the  streets  silent.  It  was  with 
difficulty  I  could  find  a  place  open  to  get 
some  tea,  but  the  Faulkner  Inn  opened 
its  doors,  and  in  a  snug  little  domestic 
looking  coffee-room  I  made  myself  com- 
fortable until  St.  Paul's  bells  boomed  out 
for  service.  Quickly  the  great  space  of  the 
cathedral  was  filled  up,  there  must  have 
been  at  least  five  thousand  present.  The 
choir  was  that  which  is  called  supple- 
mentary, the  music  used  was  simple,  no 
anthems,  but  in  their  place  three  good 
congregational  hymns;  the  congregation 
too  sang  them  with  a  will.  I  noticed 
that  whenever  the  time  was  not  distinct 
and  good  the  people  failed.  The  first 
hymn,  "  O  God  of  hosts,  the  mighty 
Lord,"  had  a  complicated  feeling  about  its 
melody;  that  hymn  was  poor.  "We  love 
the  place,  O  God,"  with  its  straight  for- 
ward tune,  had  a   good  swing,  but  when 


<TTo  t£nglanTi  anto  tfacfe.         77 


Gilbert's  setting  to  "Pleasant  are  thy 
courts  above,"  was  given  out,  then  there 
was  as  the  sound  of  many  waters  from 
the  assembled  throngs;  my  heart  swelled 
within  me  as  I  listened  to  it. 

At  last  the  sermon  time  has  come,  and 
the  Hon.  E.  Lvttleton,  headmaster  of 
Haileybury  School,  ascends  the  pulpit. 
He  took  for  his  text  Job  1:9,  "Doth 
Job  serve  God  for  naught?"  It  was  a 
masterly  outline  of  the  Book  of  Job,  and 
a  setting:  forth  of  the  theme  thereof  as 
the  inspired  answer  to  modern  pessimism. 
There  was  grand  reserve  in  the  manner 
of  the  preacher,  a  clear  far-reaching 
voice,  an  intense  earnestness,  always  chas- 
tened by  severe  taste,  and  a  sparing  but 
graceful  use  of  gesture;  throughout  the 
length  of  the  masterly  discourse,  and  it 
was  long,  the  attention  of  the  people 
seemed  unflagging. 

I  must  add  that  Dean  Gregory  read 
the  Lessons  with  a  sonorous  and  sym- 
pathetic voice;  his  heart  seemed  to  go 
out,  in  all  its  genial  greatness,  with 
every  word,  as  he  gave  the  Benediction 
from  the  altar  over  that  vast  congregation 


78         Eo  GFnfllan*  anfc  ISacfc. 


at  the  close.  Slowly  they  dispersed,  and 
thronged  the  streets  on  all  sides.  A  bus 
up  the  Strand  brought  me  comfortably  on 
my  way  to  rest  and  sleep. 

London,  January  ji,  1892. 


Co  (PnglantJ  antj  ISarfe.         79 


XII. 

MONDAY  morning  found  us  on  our 
way    to     St.    Mary    Magdalene's, 
Minister  Square,  to  attend  the  funeral  of 
Mr.  G.J.  Palmer.     We  felt  as  undeputed 
representatives    of    his   many    friends    in 
America,  who  have  learned  much  from 
the  fearless  columns  of  The  Church  Times. 
We  entered  after  the  service  had  begun, 
and   the  tones  of  the   Psalm  ringing  out 
well  accorded  with  the  draped  altar  and 
reredos.    All  was  solemn,  sombre  and  sor- 
rowful.    St.  Mary  Magdalene's  is  a  severe, 
handsome  church,  archaic  in  its  form,  and 
especially  in  its  stained  glass.      How  far  it 
is  wise,  except  as  a  matter  of   sentimental 
taste,  to  revive  such   severe  outlines   is  a 
question;     such     was    a    flitting    thought 
which  impressed  itself  upon  me.      At   the 
close  of  the  lesson  a  hymn  was  sung  and 
then  the  solemn   Eucharist  followed,  the 
music  used   was  the  Gregorian  Requiem, 
and  lent  itself  with  touching  pathos  to  the 


8o        Co  (England  antj  3i5acfc. 

occasion.  The  sequence  was  the  Dies  Ircc, 
sung-  in  alternate  strains  by  men  and  boys. 
In  the  latter  part  of  the  immortal  hymn, 
the  slowness  and  softness  of  utterance 
gave  special  force  and  was  an  illustration 
of  the  great  effect  of  such  simple  music 
under  devout  and  sympathetic  treatment. 
In  the  Agnus  Dei  the  extremely  simple 
arrangement  as  found  in  the  requiem  music 
of  the  Guild  of  All  Souls'  was  made 
thrilling  by  the  careful  declamation  of 
the  boy  choristers. 

The  family  of  the  deceased  and  imme- 
diate relatives  alone  received.  It  seemed 
such  a  loving,  comforting  thing  to  see 
them  approach  the  altar  and  also  to  be 
especially  appropriate  that  all  others  who 
were  present  should  assist  them  in  then- 
loving  devotions,  and  stand  aloof  in  sym- 
pathy, not  venturing  nearer  when  such 
sacred  grief  and  blessed  personal  comfort 
were  upon  them. 

At  the  close  of  the  service  the  choir 
and  officiating  clergy  grouped  themselves 
around  the  bier,  which  was  flanked  at 
each  side  by  three  tall  tapers,  the  Nunc 
Dimittis  was  then  sung  and  the  coffin 
censed. 


2To  (fnglantj  antJ  *3acfc.         8r 

The  remaining  part  of  the  service  was 
said  at  the  grave  in  Highgate  Cemetery. 
Thither  I  went,  raining  as  it  was,  and  in 
due  time  reached  that  city  of  the  dead 
lifted  up  above  the  great  city  of  the  liv- 
ing. Had  the  day  been  clear  the  outlook 
would  have  been  tremendous,  but  even  as 
it  was,  one  felt  the  great  elevation  of  the 
place.  The  coffin  was  met  at  the  ceme- 
tery gates  by  choir  and  clergy,  and  with 
solemn  song  the  grave  was  reached. 
There  amidst  a  dense  down-pour  of  rain 
and  roaring  wind,  the  last  words  were 
said,  and  George  Josiah  Palmer  was  laid 
to  sleep  with  his  kindred.  From  many 
hearts  went  up  the  prayer  that  he  might 
rest  in  peace  and  that  light  perpetual 
might  shine  upon  him.  On  my  way 
down  the  steep  road  which  leads  to  the 
railway  station,  I  joined  myself  to  a  pleas- 
ant-looking old  gentleman  whom  I  had 
observed  deeply  moved  at  the  grave. 
"Ah,"  said  he,  "we  were  young  men  to- 
gether; I  remember  but  as  yesterday, 
when  a  lot  of  us,  young  fellows,  took 
twelve  copies  of  the  Church  Times  apiece, 
just  to  start  it." 

I  must  mention  also  that  just  as  I   was 


82         Co  <£nglanfc  anfc  SSacft. 

leaving  St.  Mary  Magdalene's  a  clergy- 
man addressed  me  with  the  question 
whether  I  was  not  an  American  and  my 
name  Cooke.  Ah,  like  a  flash  I  could 
see  it  all.  He  had  known  my  dear  friend, 
William  H.  Cooke,  dead  and  gone,  once 
in  Trinity  Parish,  the  genial  sold,  the 
lovely  singer,  the  simple,  earnest  nature. 
Some  one  had  told  me  once  that  there 
was  a  touch  of  resemblance  in  our  faces, 
and  here  this  stranger  in  London  stopped 
me  with  the  question.  We  had,  you  may 
be  sure,  a  hearty  word  of  sympathy  and 
then  a  loving  adieu.  Before  we  parted, 
however,  he  asked  once  again:  "Do  you 
know  Post?"  "  Yes,"  said  I,  "good  soul, 
he  was  one  of  my  best  friends  in  the  sem- 
inary in  New  York." 

From  Highgate  I  made  direct  by  rail 
to  Moorgate  Street  station  and  to  my 
bankers  for  letters.  Letters  from  home, 
how  good  they  are,  and  what  a  delicious 
thing  to  tear  them  open,  devour  the  con- 
tents and  then  slowly  read  them  all  over 
again. 

My  energies  being  yet  good  for  some 
hours'  work,  I  went  off  into  the  White- 
chapel  district,  and  my  luck  brought  me, 


2To  (£nglarnti  an*  3Sacfc.         83 

without  a  thought,  to  Toynbee  Hall  and 
St.  Jude's,  Whitechapel.  As  I  entered 
the  court  of  Tovnbee  Hall,  I  met  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Boyle,  one  of  the  curates  of  St 
Jude's,  and  in  the  most  courteous  way  he 
handed  me  over  to  Mr.  Aves.  Under 
his  direction  I  had  a  brief  glimpse  of  this 
Oxford  settlement  in  East  London,  and 
its  attempt  to  plant  "sweetness  and  light" 
among  its  grimy  denizens.  It  was  not 
the  hour  when  persons  of  that  class  could 
avail  themselves  of  its  benefits.  I  could 
see  enough,  however,  from  the  syllabus 
of  lectures  and  classes,  to  learn  that  a 
great  work  was  being  done,  done  in  a 
certain  way,  it  is  true,  but  yet  done.  It 
was  my  privilege  to  see  the  library  with 
its  choice  books,  to  walk  through  the  cor- 
ridors decorated  with  engravings  and 
photographs,  and  to  stand  in  the  cheerful 
dining-room  of  the  resident  gentlemen 
who  try  to  make  an  evangel  of  their  lives 
in  t his  crowded  part  of  London.  It  was 
a  noble  room,  graced  by  good  pictures,  a 
grand  piano,  and  a  full  size  plaster  repro- 
duction of  the  splendid  archer,  I  think  by 
Thorneycroft.  There  is  nothing  harsh 
or  distinctively  ascetic,  or,  indeed,  it  may 


84         Co  (Snglanti  anfi  i3acft. 


be  said,  definitely  dogmatic  about  Toyn- 
bee  Hall,  but  surely  it  must  do  a  splendid 
work.  St.  Jude's  is  close  by.  It  is  an 
old  classical  church  and  every  effort  has 
been  made  to  brighten  it  up  in  the  esthetic 
sense.  Engravings  and  photographs  hung 
on  the  pillars,  some  pictures  that  looked 
like  Watts,  hung  on  the  wall.  One  espe- 
cially impressed  me:  Love  in  vain  trying 
to  keep  Death,  a  veiled  figure,  from  en- 
tering  the  portal.  There  was  also  a 
striking  plaster  group,  life  size,  of  Esau 
pleading  with  Isaac  for  a  blessing.  There 
was  hope  in  Isaac's  face  even  for 
Esau,  and  so  that  figure  may  give 
hope  to  many  a  modern  Esau,  who, 
too,  has  sold  his  birthright  for  "the 
mess  of  pottage."  Slowly  I  walked 
around  the  church.  The  old  lady  care- 
taker was  putting  away  all  the  Bibles  and 
Prayer  Books,  for,  I  think  that  evening 
the  Oratorio  of  the  Messiah  was  to  be 
sung  by  a  local  musical  society.  I  noticed 
that  the  old  lady  had  a  nice  little  gas  stove 
near  her  official  chair,  all  aglow.  The 
font,  too,  had  a  cluster  of  bright  red  flow- 
ers at  its  foot,  and  the  seats  for  the  choris- 
ters in  the  choir  were  painted  a  brilliant 


Co  G?nglano  ano  <13acfc.         85 

red.  What  a  contrast  it  all  was  to  St. 
Mary  Magdalene's!  It  may  be  that  this 
cheeriness  is  just  what  is  needed  by  the 
poor.  Add  to  it  the  knowledge  of  the 
Faith,  and  Catholic  practice,  and  you 
have  all  wants  met. 

This  constant  tendency  to  cater  to  the 
love  of  pleasure  in  church  matters,  leads, 
one  does  not  know  whither;  where  is  it 
to  stop?  On  coming  out  a  great  sign 
caught  my  eye  on  a  Baptist  church  di- 
rectly opposite:  "Commercial  Road  Bap- 
tist church,  Free  Concerts  every  Satur- 
day evening,  at  8:15."  It  seems  like 
turning  the  ways  of  Zion  into  a  kind 
of  Vanity  Fair.  Let  us  hope  better 
results. 

I  walked  on  westward  by  the  St.  Cath- 
erine's Docks  and  the  Tower  of  London. 
There  was  no  time  to  go  in.  I  had  seen 
it  all  once  before,  so  I  contented  myself 
with  the  grand  outside'  view,  over  which 
a  great  rift  in  the  clouds  was  shedding 
a  flood  of  yellowish  light.  The  whole 
scene  looked  like  an  enormous  etching  by 
Iladen,  with  its  deep  browns  and  (lashing 
lights  and  intense  action.  I  looked  once 
more  at  the  great    White   Tower,  and  the 


86         Co  ^nglanti  atrti  $3acfe. 


Traitor's  Gate,  and  then,  walking  over 
Tower  Hill,  turned  to  the  Mark  Lane 
station  of  the  Underground,  and  was 
soon  thereafter  at  Charing  Cross. 

London,  February  i,  18Q2. 


2To  t£nglanti  anfc  $3acfe.         87 


XIII. 

ON  the  Feast  of  the  Purification,  I 
made  my  way  to  St.  Alban's,  Hol- 
born,  taking  my  journey  from  the  Strand, 
through  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  How  little 
one  would  expect  such  expanse,  and  such 
quiet  nooks,  such  secluded  places,  near  the 
clatter  and  traffic  close  at  hand  on  the 
always  busy  Strand. 

One  would  fain  examine  those  curious 
places,  wander  through  the  magnificent 
Law  Courts,  and,  if  possible,  investigate 
the  many  Inns  of  the  lawyers,  but  in  the 
presence  of  such  evident  quiet,  matter-of- 
fact  company,  one  dare  not  intrude,  and 
must  be  content  with  looks  only,  looks 
which  recall  all  one  has  read  of  lawyers 
and  their  ways,  in  Dickens  or  Thackeray. 
A  little  commission  I  had  for  a  friend,  to 
get  him  an  engraved  coat  of  arms  in  cor- 
rect fashion,  took  me  into  this  neighbor- 
hood, where,  at  the  Great  Turnstile,  I  got 
what  was  wanted.     I  had   a  pleasant  chat 


88         Co  tPnglaitfj  airti  $3acfc. 

with  the  gentleman  in  charge,  who 
showed  me  a  most  interesting  collection 
of  heraldic  emblazonments  in  all  their 
fascinating  variety.  Incidentally  I  learned 
that  he  was  on  Sundays  an  organist  and 
choirmaster  at  a  church  in  Barking,  so  we 
had  something  in  common  beside  the 
"  pomp  of  heraldry." 

It  was  but  a  step  or  so  to  Brooke  Street, 
Holborn.  The  Celebration  had  just  begun 
as  I  entered  St.  Alban's.  For  a  week 
day,  there  was  a  good  congregation,  and 
the  service  was  all  one  could  desire.  The 
music  was  rendered  by  a  choir  of  five 
men,  and  some  ladies  with  excellent 
voices,  who  were  not  visible  from  the 
congregation.  There  was  a  tone  of  cer- 
tainty and  finish  to  it,  quite  refreshing. 
It  was  all  most  elaborate,  all  except  the 
Introit  and  Sequence,  which  were  Gre- 
gorian. 

The  ritual  at  St.  Alban's  is  a  matter  of 
careful  thought,  and  the  result  is  shown 
in  a  most  reverent  service.  Here,  as  in 
other  churches  I  have  been  in,  the  men 
sit  on  the  Epistle  side,  and  the  women  on 
the  north,  or  Gospel,  side.  Here,  as  in 
in  other   particulars,   I  found   perplexing 


5To  <!?nglan*>  aria  *3acfc.         89 

and  needless  variations.  When  at  St. 
Andrew's,  Wells  Street,  I  sat,  as  I  did 
elsewhere,  on  the  Epistle  side,  but  in  a 
short  time  I  was  shown  the  error  of  my 
way  by  the  verger,  who  ordered  me 
across  the  aisle.  As  one  goes  about,  one 
longs  for  that  definite  uniformity  in  ritual 
usage  which  is  such  a  powerful  witness 
for  obedience  to  authority.  In  due  time 
doubtless  it  will  come. 

On  my  way  out  from  St.  Alban's,  I 
visited  the  Mackonochie  Memorial  Chapel. 
It  seemed  to  me  perfect.  It  is  but  a  small 
place,  twenty-seven  feet  eight  inches  by 
sixteen  feet  four  inches,  but  it  has  a  dig- 
nity and  a  beauty  unsurpassed.  The  ex- 
quisite grace  and  finish  of  every  part  take 
away  the  sense  of  smallness,  while  the 
fullness  of  detail,  the  richness  of  symbolic 
allusion  in  every  line,  and  the  graceful 
delicacy  of  the  sculptured  figures  and 
varied  carvings,  convey  a  sense  of  at  leasl 
spiritual  spaciousness,  for  when  there,  you 
are  in  the  presence  of  great  ideas.  A 
recumbent  white  marble  figrure  of  Father 
Mackonochie  is  in  the  sculptor's  hands, 
as  also  a  beautiful  group  for  the  front  of 
the  altar.      It   is    a   fitting,   and    in   every 


90        Co  UFnglanc  an*  Uacfe. 


way     worthy,    memorial    of     a     faithful 
priest. 

In  the  afternoon  we  made  a  call  at 
the  historic  rooms  of  the  Society  for  the 
Propagation  of  the  Gospel,  where  the 
genial  secretary,  Rev.  Mr.  Tucker,  made 
us  much  at  home.  I  am  sure  all  Ameri- 
can clergy  visiting  London,  would  find  it 
pleasant  to  look  in  at  the  central  point 
of  that  great  force  which  goes  out  over 
the  whole  earth,  and  which  in  the  past 
has  left  its  mark  upon  the  Church  in 
America.  I  noticed  as  I  passed  through 
the  office,  large  packing  cases  with  their 
tropical-looking  tin  linings,  all  marked  for 
Natal.  Delahay  Street,  where  the  office 
is,  is  near  the  Downing  Street  govern- 
ment mansions.  As  I  left  the  door,  the 
rain  descended  in  torrents,  and  with  some 
very  fine-looking  people  I  took  shelter 
under  one  of  the  great  porches,  but 
bethinking  myself  of  the  Abbey  close  at 
hand,  and  time  for  Evensong  lacking 
only  ten  minutes,  I  made  a  dash  for  that 
haven,  and  got  there  in  time  for  a  glori- 
ous service;  a  splendid  anthem  from  the 
Messiah,  consisting  of  the  aria,  "  The 
Lord  whom  ye    seek,"    and    the  chorus, 


Co  (JFnglano  ano  $3acfc.         91 

"  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God."  Whether 
the  rain  or  the  holiday  was  the  efficient 
cause  of  the  large  congregation,  I  know 
not,  but  large  it  was.  We  had  a  nice  clear 
sermon,  also,  of  about  fifteen  minutes,  on 
the  festival.  Still  raining  at  the  close,  it 
was  convenient  to  take  a  bus  to  Oxford 
Street,  where,  alighting  near  All  Saints', 
Margaret  Street,  we  paid  our  usual  visit 
to  that  lovely  church,  and  heard  a  plain 
simple  Evensong,  full  of  devotion,  and 
sung  all  through  to  Gregorian  tones.  A 
walk  thence  by  the  glittering  shops  and 
through  the  crowded  streets,  brought  us 
to  our  hotel  home  and  earned  rest. 

London,  February  2,  1892. 


92         <To  <£nglanti  anfc  ISacfe. 


XIV. 

WHILE  in  London  I  went  to  a 
South-west  London  church  for  a 
visit, —  St.  Andrew's,  Stockwell  Green. 
When  one  gets  over  Westminster  Bridge 
and  takes  a  tram  car  it  seems  like  being  at 
home.  The  cars  are  American  make, 
brought  over  here  piece-meal,  and  put 
together  at  this  side.  My  friend,  the  Rev. 
Mr  Everest,  pointed  out  various  cele- 
brated spots  as  we  passed  along,  among 
them  Newman  Hall's  great  meeting- 
house, with  its  grand  front  and  spire. 

In  reaching  Stockwell  we  got  out  and 
examined  the  church  of  St.  John  the 
Divine,  Kennington,  a  beautiful  interior 
of  brick,  graceful  in  proportion,  with  that 
air  of  warmth  and  color  so  desirable  in 
modern  churches.  Arrived  at  Stockwell 
Green,  we  enjoyed  the  charming  hospi- 
tality of  a  brother  priest  and  his  de- 
voted wife.  There  we  talked  over  Amer- 
ican Church  affairs,  the  election   of   Bish- 


Co  (Pnglano  ano  iaacfc.         93 


ops,  the  government  of  dioceses,  the 
appointments  of  clergy,  the  tenure  of 
cure,  and  all  the  points  of  difference 
which  seem  so  fair  and  free  to  our  Eng- 
lish cousins.  I  learned  on  the  other  hand 
something:  of  the  English  side  of  this 
Rochester  diocese  with  its  seven  hundred 
clergy,  of  the  parish  in  which  I  then  was, 
with  its  seventeen  thousand  souls,  of  the 
manifold  forms  of  work  carried  on  by  the 
priest  and  his  three  assistant  clergy,  and 
bands  of  organized  workers,  in  church, 
Sunday  school,  day  school,  and  various 
temperance,  literary,  and  social  organiza- 
tions. It  seemed  to  me  such  a  grand 
work.  After  tea  we  visited  a  club  room 
for  working  men,  admirably  appointed, 
and  presided  over  by  one  of  the  clergy. 
Here  we  had  chat  after  chat  with  one  and 
another,  more  especially  with  one  dear 
good  lady,  who,  charmed  by  our  appreci- 
ation of  London,  asked  us  if  we  had  seen 
St.  Bartholomew's,  Smithfield.  Of  course 
we  had,  years  ago,  and  had  admired 
again  and  again  its  antique  beauty. 

From  the  club  we  went  to  the  schools 
where  eight  hundred  children  are  daily 
instructed.      Here  a  musical  and  dramatic 


94         <ZTo  iPnglano  ant  $5acfe. 

entertainment  was  in  full  blast,  under  the 
direction  of  a  temperance  club,  and  one  of 
the  curates  acting  as  director.  The  school 
room  was  crowded  with  a  delighted 
auditory.  There  was  a  farce,  and  recita- 
tions, and  music  by  a  brass  band.  It  was 
amusing  enough,  but  what  amused  me 
most  was  the  extreme  difficulty  to  catch 
the  words,  because  of  the  soft  intonations 
and  curious  elisions  of  vowels  and  conso- 
nants. 

I  was  perhaps  a  little  hard  in  steadily 
refusing  to  say  something,  but  I  was  a 
looker  on,  and  glad  to  study  this  little 
glimpse  of  work  in  a  crowded  district  in 
South-west  London. 

After  leaving  London  I  came  directly 
to  Nottingham,  not  much  affected  by 
pleasure  travel,  but  a  commercial  centre 
of  much  importance  in  manufactories,  and 
interesting  to  me,  from  family  associa- 
tions. 

Nottingham  itself  has  a  few  remnants 
of  mediaeval  times,  notably  its  three  great 
churches  of  St.  Mary,  St.  Peter,  and  St. 
Nicholas,  the  former,  a  grand  cathedral- 
like building  in  the  perpendicular  style  of 
architecture.     The  castle,  too,  on  its  great 


To  vP ii glanto  airti  ISacfc.         95 

crag,  reminding  one  of  Edinburgh,  ac- 
cents the  whole  place  with  a  historic  tone. 
The  sinuous  streets  with  here  and  there 
old  English  fronts  outside,  and  panelled 
oak  within,  attract  attention.  The  place  is 
noted  for  its  great  central  market  j:>lace, 
where,  especially  on  Saturdays,  one  may 
find  a  busy  scene  indeed,  everything 
possible  on  sale — fish,  flesh  and  fowl, 
with  all  sorts  of  commodities  you  can  im- 
agine. The  part  of  the  market  given  up 
to  flowers  was  particularly  attractive.  I 
was  much  pleased  with  the  tasteful 
arrangement  of  the  stalls,  and  the  appre- 
ciative selection  of  ivy,  laurel,  and  other 
shrubs,  as  well  as  harmonious  groups  of 
choicer  plants. 

In  my  wandering  about  among  the 
booths  and  in  the  streets,  I  came  on  an 
old  darkey  selling  papers.  Haying  bought 
one  I  got  into  conversation  with  him,  and 
soon  learned  from  him  in  the  soft  full 
voice  of  the  genuine  darkey,  that  he  had 
shipped  from  Ww  Haven  fifteen  years 
before,  and  that  he  had  been  in  Notting- 
ham ever  since.  When  I  asked  him  if  he 
ever  wanted  to  go  back  to  America, 
"  No,  sah,"  said  he,  "  I  can  lay  my  bones 


96         2To  UFnglnnli  nnto  $3acfc. 

heah,  as  well  as  theah,  I  am  as  neah  to 
Him."  There  was  a  touching  trust  in 
his  poor  old  face,  and  a  humble  content 
worth  imitating. 

Lenton,  Nottingham,  February  J,  18Q2. 


2To  ©nglanti  anti  iiacfe.         97 


XV. 


I  HAVE  come  from  a  most  interesting 
experience  here  in  Nottingham.  It 
was  in  an  immense  warehouse  where  lace 
curtains  are  finished  and  put  upon  the 
market  in  all  parts  of  the  world;  where 
the  finer  sorts  of  laces  are  produced  in 
splendid  imitation  of  old  point,  in  all  its 
historical  varieties,  which  I  am  not  learned 
enough  to  name;  where  all  manner  of 
dainty  nicknacks  in  trimmings  are  turned 
out  by  machinery  which  almost  seems 
to  think;  to  this  immense  establishment 
I  was  driven  for  the  opening  of  the  day 
at  8:  30  a.  m.,  and  what  do  you  suppose 
was  this  beginning?  It  was  the  united 
prayers  and  praises  of  employers  and 
employed,  all  together,  some  five  hundred 
of  them,  in  a  well-appointed  chapel,  with 
good  organ,  choir,  and  choral  service.  It 
was  a  most  delightful  thing  to  hear  that 
multitude   sing   with    lusty   voices,  "The 


98         2To  (!?nglant!  ant)  $3ark. 


King    of    Love,    my    Shepherd    is.     His 
goodness  faileth  never." 

From  the  platform  I  watched  them  all 
as  they  came  in,  quietly,  briskly,  orderly, 
and  then  there  was  in  so  many  instances, 
the  reverent  bowing  down  for  silent 
prayer.  Men,  women,  and  girls,  alto- 
gether in  that  great  chapel  in  the  base- 
ment of  the  huge  warehouse.  It  was  a 
lovely  sight.  The  service  book  is  a  com- 
pilation from  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer,  a  varying  portion  being  taken 
for  each  day;  addresses  are  added  on 
Tuesdays  and  Thursdays,  but  the  whole 
service  is  kept  within  half  an  hour.  The 
service  this  morning  consisted  of  a  hymn, 
a  few  collects,  the  decalogue  with  re- 
sponses, and  the  prayer  for  Christ's 
Church  Militant,  the  address,  and  bene- 
diction. 

It  was  my  privilege  to  give  the  ad- 
dress, and  few  occasions  ever  gave  me 
such  pleasure.  I  had  heard  the  service  in 
St.  George's,  Windsor;  in  St.  Paul's,  and 
the  Abbey,  but  nowhere  did  it  seem  so 
thrilling  as  uttered  by  those  work  people 
before  their  daily  toil. 

It  certainly  is  a  happy   idea   to   assem- 


<ZTo  (JFngJanb  ant»  33acfc.         99 

hie  all  as  a  great  family  before  the  duty 
of  the  day  begins.  The  working  people 
take  a  deep  interest  in  the  services;  they 
have  themselves  paid  for  the  organ,  and 
look  upon  employment  in  this  warehouse 
as  a  distinct  advantage.  I  have  been  told 
that  a  well-defined,  refining  influence,  is 
marked  in  all  employed  there;  and  cer- 
tainly it  seemed  so,  as  one  saw  the  intel- 
ligent, refined  and  cultivated  faces  among 
them. 

One  of  the  proprietors  with  a  just 
pride  told  me  that  I  would  be  astonished 
to  find  the  advancement,  intelligence,  and 
varied  information  which  existed  among 
them.  I  need  hardly  say  that  it  would 
not  have  surprised  me  in  the  least,  for  I 
have  found  full  many  a  beautiful  blossom 
in  humble,  lowly  places,  and  much  innate 
refinement  under  most  unfavorable  cir- 
cumstances. .Said  my  friend:  1  had  a 
lady  visitor  from  London,  and  a  Hoard 
meeting  kept  me  so  busy  that  I  could  not 
just  at  the  moment  give  the  interview 
required.  In  my  predicament  I  bethought 
me  of  one  of  the  girls  in  the  packing 
room  to  amuse  my  grand  visitor  from 
the    metropolis.     "Get    a    cab,"  said   I   to 


ioo       (Co  <$nglairti  anti  itfacfc. 

the  girl,  "  and  take  this  lady  to  the  Cas- 
tle Museum  or  anywhere  you  like,  and 
entertain  her  until  I  have  leisure.  So,"  said 
he,  "  I  left  the  two  together,  the  lady  in 
sealskin,  and  the  factory  girl  in  her  own 
simple  garb.  When  I  returned,  I  found 
them  hob-nobbing  together  in  splendid 
style,  the  lady  having  accepted  an  invita- 
tion to  share  the  factory  girl's  tea  in  the 
refreshment  hour.  Afterwards  I  had  a 
note  from  the  lady's  husband  thanking 
me  for  the  splendid  time  his  wife  had  on 
her  visit.  It  was  none  of  my  doing,  it 
was  the  intelligent  and  genial  companion- 
ship of  the  factory  girl."  I  felt  myself 
that  this  bright  spirit  extended  on  all 
hands,  as  I  went  with  my  friend  from 
floor  to  floor,  being  shown  by  the  em- 
ployees in  the  various  departments,  the 
specialties  over  which  they  each  had  con- 
trol. 

I  must  add  that  two  chaplains  and  an 
organist  are  engaged  for  the  daily  ser- 
vices, and  duly  paid  by  the  company. 
Surely  it  is  a  good  investment  and  one 
that  might  well  be  copied  in  our  many 
mammoth  enterprises  of  Chicago. 

Lenton,  Nottingham,  February  9,  i8q2. 


Co  u?ng!ano  ano  15arfe.        101 


XVI. 

WHAT  can  exceed  the  unaffected 
hospitality  of  an  English  home? 
There  is  a  delicious  quiet  about  it,  a  mat- 
ter-of-fact gentle  assumption  that  you 
arc  completely  at  home,  and  that  you 
are  thus  also  completely  at  ease.  You 
come  and  go  at  your  own  will,  under 
the  sole  obligation  to  be  present  at 
the  culmination  of  the  day,  the  seven 
o'clock  dinner.  You  are  free  for  all 
else.  Your  own  room,  with  easy  chair 
and  well-supplied  writing  table,  may  be 
your  retreat,  or  you  can  enjoy  library  or 
drawing-room,  or  the  pleasures  of  the 
park  or  garden.  A  gentle,  unvarying 
attention  is  paid  by  the  silent  and  noise- 
less servants.  Your  every  want  is  quietly 
anticipated.  You  may  return  after  a 
drive  in  the  chilly  air  -a  bright  coal  tire 
in  your  room  will  greet  you  there,  while 
your  slippers,  laid  where  you  can  easily 
get  them,  also  give  welcome.    The  house 


102       Co  <$nglairti  antj  $5ack. 

is  all  happily-innocent  of  water  pipes  or 
stationary  wash-basins,  but  hot  water  will 
be  sure  to  be  on  hand  for  your  dinner 
toilet,  and  ere  you  are  up  in  the  morning 
a  great  brass  pitcher  of  the  same  cheer- 
ing temperature  will  be  brought  to  your 
door,  with  which,  and  a  sitting  bath  tub 
in  your  room,  you  can  make  a  most  com- 
fortable beginning  to  your  day.  If  you 
get  to  the  breakfast  room  before  nine, 
doubtless  you  will  be  first  there  yourself, 
but  soon  the  head  of  the  house  and  others 
arrive,  the  servants  come  in  for  family 
prayers,  I  have  seen  six  of  them,  Bible  in 
hand,  comely  women  and  maids,  a  goodly 
sight,  fair,  well  dressed  and  neatly  capped. 

That  family  worship,  morning  and 
night,  that  daily  round  of  Scripture  read- 
ing, that  constant  recurrence  of  portions 
of  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  how 
"good  and  how  pleasant"  it  is  all! 

What  a  lovely,  straggling  meal  break- 
fast is!  Your  letters  are  by  your  plate; 
after  grace  is  said  everybody  reads  and 
eats  as  he  chooses.  "What  will  you 
have?  Help  yourself;  there  are  chops, 
sardines  on  toast,  and  cold  venison."  So 
you  go  to  the  side-board  and  have  a   slice 


Co  (£nglano  ana  SSacfc.       103 

of  what  you  want.  Then  plans  are  made 
for  the  day.  "A  carriage  will  be  at  the 
door  for  Bisley  at  half  after  eleven,"  or 
"  We  go  calling  in  the  afternoon,"  or 
"  There  is  a  walking  party  out  to  some 
historic  site  or  another  later  on." 

You  must  be  dull,  indeed,  if,  when, 
dressed  for  dinner,  you  take  your  place 
in  the  drawing  room,  you  have  not  had  a 
happy  day,  and  have  also  a  keen,  good 
appetite  for  the  good  things  which  await 
you,  and  the  lovely  hours  which  follow 
thereafter  until  prayers  and  bedtime.  At 
last  the  caudles  are  brought,  and  once 
more  alone  before  a  cheerful  fire  in  your 
spacious,  simply-furnished,  but  most  com- 
fortable room,  you  prepare  yourself  for 
MYL'ct  sleep  and  pleasant  dreams. 

One  day  recently  I  made  a  special  pil- 
grimage to  Clumber,  the  seat  of  his  Grace, 
the  Duke  of  New  castle,  to  see  the  beau- 
tiful church  which  he  has  recently  erected 
for  the  use  of  his  household,  close  to  his 
castle  gates. 

The  way  led  me  for  eighteen  miles 
across  country,  through  village  after  vil- 
lage, each  with  its  venerable  church  and 
clustering    cottages    of     red     tiled     roofs. 


104       Co  (Snglanto  ano  $3acfc. 

Pleasant  it  was  to  dash  along  the  well- 
kept  roads,  by  farm  house  and  ploughed 
field,  over  hill  and  dale,  and  at  last 
enter  the  beautiful  parks  which  lead 
on  to  Clumber.  The  first  of  these  was 
Rufford,  glorious  with  Scotch  firs,  old 
beeches,  and  lustrous  evergreens.  After- 
ward came  Thoresby,  the  seat  of  Lord 
Manvers,  a  noble  expanse  of  forest  and 
rich  woodland,  part  of  Sherwood  Forest; 
great  troops  of  deer  were  on  every  side, 
while  pheasants  and  other  game  con- 
stantly broke  covert.  At  last  Clumber 
was  reached,  a  great  pile  of  buildings 
without  special  architectural  attraction, 
but  filled,  we  were  told,  with  objects  of 
art.  Somehow  I  never  care  for  a  hurried 
look  at  such  matters.  It  is  a  most  tiring 
operation,  and  an  outrage  on  one's  artistic 
conscience.  My  coachman  rather  startled 
me  by  asking  if  I  wished  to  drive  up 
to  the  front  door.  "  No,"  said  I.  "  I  am 
sure  the  Duke  would  be  glad  to  see  me, 
but  really  I  have  not  the  honor  of  his 
acquaintance."  At  this  juncture  a  passing 
retainer,  evidently  ready  to  be  inter- 
viewed, informed  us  that  if  we  wished  to 
see  the  church  we  should   drive  up   to  it, 


Eo  <£nglant>  an*  ISarfc.        105 

and  ask  for  the  verger,  Mr.  Harvey. 
This  we  did,  but  every  door  was  locked. 
The  external  beauty  made  one  long*-  all 
the  more  for  that  which  was  within.  In 
this  fix  we  bethought  us  of  the  chap- 
lain, and  went  to  his  residence.  The 
kindly  spoken  servants  told  us  with  regret 
that  he  was  away  and  would  not  be 
home  until  night,  suggesting  to  us  that 
we  should  see  the  Duke's  housekeeper 
who  could  possibly  open  the  church  for 
us.  We  soon  saw  this  good  lady;  cheery 
and  bright  she  was,  in  her  great  apart- 
ment which  was  covered  with  family 
pictures  and  filled  at  one  side  with  an 
immense  cabinet  crowded  with  rare  old 
china.  Back  we  went  with  her  to  the 
parson's  house  where  after  a  little  search 
she  found  his  keys,  and  opened  for  us  the 
church  doors. 

ft  is,  without  exception,  the  most 
stately  and  harmonious  small  church  I 
have  ever  seen.  I  could  only  take  a  re- 
gretfully rapid  glance  over  the  whole 
place,  and  take  in  the  general  effect,  for  I 
had  yet  to  drive  hack  eighteen  miles  to 
reach  home. 

I  entered  at  the  side  door,  a  little,  nar- 


106       Eo  <£nglanto  airti  $3acfe. 

row  affair,  but  at  once  went  clown  the 
nave  to  the  western  entrance  to  get  the 
impression,  first,  of  the  whole  building. 
The  church  is  cruciform,  a  nave  with 
choir,  and  transepts,  and  choir  aisles.  The 
south  choir  aisle  contains  the  Lady  chapel; 
the  north  choir  aisle,  the  organ  chamber, 
and  vestry  rooms.  The  interior  and  ex- 
terior are  done  in  warm-tinted  stone,  like 
our  Lake  Superior  sandstone;  the  win- 
dows are  placed  high,  and  the  open  roof, 
exquisite  in  proportion.  The  whole  place 
has  such  a  satisfying,  harmonious  effect 
—  glass,  woodwork,  carved  stone,  orna- 
ments, everything  —  that  the  eye  is  di- 
verted from  detail.  One  gets  an  impres- 
sion of  a  small  interior,  magnificent  in 
itself,  commanding  reverent  admiration 
as  a  whole.  You  look  through  the  open 
door  of  the  choir  screen  and  see  the 
altar,  glorious  in  itself  and  white  with  its 
six  lights  and  other  groups  of  tapers!  It 
is  splendidly  vested,  and  rich  in  every 
ornament,  the  cross,  the  tabernacle,  the 
candlesticks,  faultless  in  taste  and  work- 
manship. Back  again  the  eye  is  drawn 
to  the  screen.     I  only  have  an  impression 


Co  vPnglanti  anc  ISarfe.       107 

of  rich  wood  carving,  with  saints,  and 
angels,  and  sacred  symbols  over  all. 
What  attracted  me  most  was  a  unique 
looking  rood,  with  the  Blessed  Virgin 
and  St.  John,  an  elaborate  piece  of  carv- 
ing, hanging  suspended  over  the  screen 
itself,  while  on  the  screen  stood  six  im- 
mense candlesticks  holding  tall  wax  tapers. 

The  nave  and  side  chapel  were  seated 
with  plain  chairs;  all  were  alike,  the 
Duke  and  his  family  having  no  other  dis- 
tinction than  that  of  being  in  the  front 
row. 

The  north  transept  was  occupied  by  a 
beautifully  carved  confessional,  and  the 
south  transept  by  the  font. 

After  this  hurried  glance  at  the  whole 
building  from  the  nave,  I  entered  the 
Lady  chapel.  The  red  light  told  me  the 
sacrament  was  reserved  upon  the  altar. 

From  thence  I  went  to  the  high  altar 
in  the  choir.  Here  the  housekeeper  re- 
moved the  antependium  and  disclosed  the 
sculptures  in  the  altar  front,  done  in 
purest  white  marble. 

The  choir  stalls  are  cedar  and,  I  think, 
mahogany.       Every     bench  -  end,    every 


108       Co  i£nglanTj  ana  i3arfc. 

panel,  is  a  study  and  a  lesson,  Saints,  and 
prophets,  and  martyrs,  angels  and  arch- 
angels, all  are  there  in  loveliest  form; 
hangings  of  choicest  velvet,  lovely  tints 
of  blue  and  green,  with  subdued  orna- 
ments of  flower  and  fruit,  all  are  com- 
bined in  the  daintiest  and  most  perfect 
fashion  for  this  church  of  St.  Mary  the 
Virgin  at  Clumber.  From  it,  with  all 
its  beauty,  my  mind  turned  to  St.  Mary's, 
Burlington,  New  Jersey,  the  creation  of 
Bishop  Doane.  The  same  cruciform 
shape,  the  same  rich  tint  of  stone,  the 
same  great  central  spire,  and  if  not  the 
same  in  beauty,  at  least  under  the  same 
invocation  to  St.  Mary,  and  witness  to 
the  same  love. 

The  drive  home  was  even  more  pleas- 
ant than  our  coming,  for  the  keen  north- 
easter was  to  our  backs,  and  beauties  of 
wood  and  field  not  seen  before  made 
themselves  evident.  Both  journeys  were 
brightened  by  the  sweet  hospitalities  of  a 
charming  home,  where  we  tarried  for 
luncheon  and  for  tea.  That  was  a  happy 
hour  we  had  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
an  illustrated  book  on  horses  and  dogs 
with  an  enthusiastic  young  sportsman  not 


2Ho  (PnglanTi  anti  iSatk.        109 

vet  out  of  petticoats.  Happy  home, 
happy  children,  splendid  drive,  and  glori- 
ous church  at  Clumber,  the  point  of  our 
pilgrimage. 

Southwell,  Nottingham^  February  sj,  i8g2. 


no       <Fo  iJrtiglntttr  nnti  Uarft. 


XVII. 

ONE  of  my  Sundays  at  Nottingham 
gave  me  the  opportunity  to  attend 
at  St.  Mary's,  the  great  church  of  the 
town.  It  was  a  little  late  when  I  en- 
tered, and  as  I  was  ushered  up  to  a  good 
seat  by  the  verger,  I  could  hear  the  great 
booming,  earnest,  though  indistinct  tones 
of  the  people  joining  in  the  Te  Deum. 
They  looked  happy,  pleased,  and  devo- 
tional. 

St.  Mary's  is  a  great  cruciform  struc- 
ture, largely  in  the  perpendicular  Gothic, 
which  gives  such  an  air  of  light,  and 
almost  fantastic  display  of  windows.  The 
whole  of  the  transepts  seem  to  be  glass, 
divided  by  a  trellis  work  of  latticed  stone. 
Such  work  impresses  me  as  the  product 
of  a  rich  imagination  held  in  check  by 
rule.  It  will  display  its  vigor  and  rich- 
ness but  in  an  excpiisite  order  and  propri- 
ety. We  have  not,  that  I  know  of,  in 
America  a   good    specimen    of   this  style. 


Co  (Pnglano  anfo  $3acft.       m 

W.-uld  that  we  had!  It  seems  to  make 
the  very  stones  breathe  the  life  of  ex- 
uberant, joyous  faith,  and  the  walls  to 
let  in  the  lustre  of  the  spiritual  world. 

Canon  Richardson  was  the  preacher, 
a  man  gifted  with  precise,  incisive  speech, 
and  that  chastened  manner  indicative  of 
reserve  power. 

The  service  consisted  of  choral  Mat- 
ins, simply  chanted.,  an  anthem,  the  ser- 
mon, and  offertory  verse;  all  was  over  in 
an  hour  and  a  quarter.  This  is  paving 
the  way  for  better  things,  and  the  service 
of  services — a  full  choral  Eucharist  for 
worship — Communions  having  been  made 
beforehand,  at  the  Celebration  which  each 
priest  ought  to  say  at  least  every  Sunday. 
Three  priests  are  the  usual  staff  in  these 
churches;  this  would  give  two  early  Cele- 
brations, and  a  High  Celebration,  with 
priest,  deacon,  and  sub-deacon  at  the 
usual  hour  of  a  quarter  to  eleven  in  the 
morning. 

One  must  respect  "  the  patience  of  the 
saints"  which  one  meets  with  in  England 
and  elsewhere.  You  will  find  thorough 
knowledge,  noble  courage,  earnest  desire 
for  full  Catholic  truth   and   practice,  and 


H2       Co  (ffnglano  ano  13arfe. 

with  it  all,  this  saintly  patience  with 
utter  opposites,  this  gentle  submission  to 
apparently  inevitable  circumstances,  this 
prayerful  hopefulness  that  in  God's  good 
time  all  will  be  well,  this  humble  witness 
where  God  has  placed  them  in  His  good 
providence. 

I  never  tire  of  those  vast  English  con- 
gregations, and  their  ecclesiastically  speak- 
ing, heterogeneous  flood.  In  they  stream 
to  the  church,  some  heedless,  though 
quiet  and  reserved ;  others  devout  and 
exact,  as  others  are  apparently  careless. 
All  are  in  the  church  —  and  side  by  side 
—  and  worshipping.  And  then,  after 
service,  the  flood  rolls  out  in  like  man- 
ner; "all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men," 
almost  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 

In  the  afternoon  of  this  day,  it  was 
my  pleasant  duty  to  go  out  to  a  village 
church  in  Derbyshire,  and  preach  there 
at  the  evening  service,  making  an  appeal 
for  the  restoration  fund  of  the  building. 
It  was  in  the  little  village  of  Sawley,  a 
quiet  little  place  without  mills  or  ma- 
chinery, or  any  modern  innovation  that  I 
could  descry. 

The    rambling   street    was    a    picture, 


Zo  tPnglairti  anfc  13acfe.       113 

each  house  with  an  expression  of  its  own, 
like  a  row  of  rustic  heads,  no  two  alike, 
but  all  quaint,  irregular,  and  interesting-. 
Red  roofs,  straw  roofs,  queer  chimneys, 
oddly  placed  windows,  crumbling  stone 
and  brick,  all  covered  with  glints  and 
tints  of  moss  and  stain  of  time. 

The  church  turned  out  to  be  a  lovely 
old  building,  consisting  of  a  good  nave 
with  pillared  aisles,  a  long  drawn  choir, 
separated  by  an  ancient  wooden  screen. 
The  stalls  and  it  were  of  oak,  black  with 
age  and  use.  There  were  some  curious 
recumbent  figures,  and  many  tombs  pa- 
thetic in  their  mutilation. 

The  whole  place  was  to  me  a  text  on 
which  to  string  memories  of  the  Church, 
from  its  first  foundation  on  that  spot  more 
than  one  thousand  years  ago,  and  of 
hopes  for  the  future,  as  one  looked  at  the 
splendid  restoration  already  accomplished 
there,  and  elsewhere,  and  of  the  grand  out- 
look for  the  whole  Church  in  the  Ens'- 
lish-speaking  empire  and  the  vast  conti- 
nent of  the  United  States.  Was  it  too 
much  to  dream  that  in  some  future  con- 
gress of  the  English  race,  from  all  parts 
of    the   earth,   America  and  the  English 


n4       £o  yrnglanti  anto  $3acfe. 

Empire  would  he  one  in  confederation, 
and  England  be  a  Holy  Land,  a  place  of 
shrines  to  which  all  English  hearts  would 
turn  "  from  the  rising  of  the  sun  even 
unto  the  sroing-  down  thereof  ?  " 

The  drive  out  from  Nottingham  to 
Sawley  was  through  village  after  village, 
each  with  its  well-appointed  church  and 
comely  churchyard.  My  heart  ached  as 
I  thought  of  the  vast  stretches  of  our 
own  land,  sadly  lacking  in  such  splendid 
equipment  for  teaching  to  all  men  the 
knowledge  of  salvation.  Few  and  far 
between  are  our  country  churches,  so  that 
with  us  it  may  be  that  pagan  will  have 
again  its  double  meaning.  But  God  for- 
bid! The  drive  home  was  in  the  quiet  of 
the  night,  with  the  stars  looking  down 
exactly  as  they  beamed  upon  me  in  Chi- 
cago, so  minute  is  the  little  arc  of  separa- 
tion here  below,  compared  with  the  vast 
sweep  of  the  stars  above. 

I  may  mention  that  the  offertory  was 
about  fifty  dollars,  and  the  wholesome- 
faced  rustic  wardens  asked  me  to  come 
again. 

I  must  also  add  that  the  choir  was 
quite   creditable,  a   great  contrast   music- 


Eo  (PnglatrtJ  ant  13acfe.       115 

ally,  it  is  true,  to  others  I  had  heard;  but 
what  was  lacking  in  art  was  evidently 
made  up  for  in  heart,  for  men  and  boys 
alike  seemed  fully  impressed  with  the 
importance  of  their  work. 

Lenton,  Nottingham,  February  28,  1892. 


n6       «JTo  ©nglanb  atiTj  $3ack. 


XVIII. 

ASH  Wednesday  has  come  and  gone. 
It  found  me  in  Oxford,  and  left  me 
after  a  day  of  blessed  quiet  and  profit. 
The  silence  and  seclusion  of  a  religious 
house  came  with  special  sweetness  at  such 
a  time.  The  awaking  at  an  early  hour, 
the  united  prayers,  the  solemn  Eucharist, 
so  reverential  and  so  simple,  in  that  upper 
room,  duly  prepared,  the  retreat  of  one's 
own  cell,  the  various  calls  to  prayer,  the 
awful  earnestness  of  the  Litany  and  Com- 
mination  service  in  the  parish  church,  the 
august  simplicity  and  splendid  power  of 
the  sermon,  not  one  word  for  effect,  but 
every  syllable  for  truth  and  practice,  all 
make  up  an  ideal  time  of  refreshing. 

I  had  never  heard  the  Commination 
Service  before.  The  Preface  sounds  out 
with  an  old-time  air  thus:  "Brethren, 
in  the  Primitive  Church  there  was  a 
godly  discipline,  that,  at  the  beginning  of 
Lent,  such  persons  as    stood   convicted   of 


Co  (Pnglanii  anti  33acfc.       117 

notorious  sin  were  put  to  open  penance, 
and  punished  in  this  world,  that  their  souls 
may  be  saved  in  the  day  of  the  Lord; 
and  that  others,  admonished  by  their  ex- 
ample, might  be  the  more  afraid  to 
offend."  It  is  a  heart-searching  service, 
and  as  read  and  sung  by  the  aged  priest, 
had  in  it  a  grand  ring  of  authority  and 
power.  The  Miserere  is  sung  at  its  close 
alternately  by  priest  and  people.  The 
voice  of  the  officiant  unaccompanied  by 
the  organ,  quavered  off  in  its  imperfect 
but  most  earnest  manner,  undisturbed  by 
the  mechanical  accuracy  of  organ  pipes; 
it  was  most  touching,  the  full  voices  of 
choir,  people,  and  organ,  making  the 
response.  Here,  I  may  say,  that  the 
Church  rule  which  prescribes  that  the 
organ  should  not  accompany  the  priest's 
voice  in  collects,  prefaces,  and  versicles, 
seems  founded  upon  common  sense.  If 
the  voice  is  old  and  cracked,  but  venera- 
ble, and  beloved,  and,  above  all  other 
relations,  necessary,  as  the  voice  of  the 
olliciant,  then  an  impertinent  organ  part, 
with  its  own  most  positive  imperfections, 
only  increases  the  difficulty,  marring  the 
solemnity,  and  not  mending  the  music.    I 


n8       Co  Urttglano  ana  13ack. 

might  also  add  that  there  are  powers  of 
fine  gradation  in  the  well-trained  expres- 
sive voice,  which  are  unattainable  by 
organ  pipes. 

In  the  evening  at  eight,  Knox-Little 
preached  at  St.  Barnabas',  the  first  of  a 
course  of  conferences  on  Social  Questions 
of  the  day.  The  great  church  was  packed 
with  people  —  it  will  hold  fifteen  hundred 
— on  one  side  a  solid  body  of  men,  under- 
graduates tbe  most  of  them,  and  under- 
graduate Oxford  represents  the  hope  and 
flower  of  English  life.  I  sat  away  back, 
near  the  door ;  one's  heart  thrilled  to  look 
out  over  such  a  congregation,  and  to  note 
the  earnestness,  devotion,  spirit,  and  man- 
liness' of  such  a  crowd.  On  the  other 
side  were  women,  many  of  them,  too, 
engaged  in  literary  pursuits,  and  all  deeply 
interested  in  tbe  great  cause  of  religion, 
which  in  Oxford  finds  at  once  its  greatest 
conflicts,  greatest  victories,  and  greatest 
opportunities. 

St.  Barnabas',  Oxford,  bas  been  my 
ideal  of  a  town  church,  one  that  might 
have  been,  and  in  God's  good  time  may 
yet  be,  in  Chicago.  It  was  built  by  Mr. 
Coombe,    University    printer,   long  since 


&o  tEnglanto  anti  13ack.        119 

gone  to  his  reward.  The  structure  is  what 
one  might  call  inexpensive,  for  though 
cheap,  there  is  nothing  cheap-looking 
about  it.  It  is  a  Basilica,  a  plain  paral- 
lelogram, a  great  pillared  oblong  space, 
with  side  aisles,  and  an  apse  at  the  east 
end  in  which  stands  the  high  altar  under 
a  grand  canopy.  In  front  of  the  altar, 
extending  out  into  the  nave,  stands  the 
choir,  raised,  and  enclosed  by  open  screen 
work.  The  structure  is  of  concrete, 
trimmed  with  brick,  plain  and  severe  in 
form,  but  made  elegant  by  correct  lines, 
well  chosen  ornament,  and  tasteful  color 
and  gilding.  A  fine  campanile  stands  at 
the  south-east  corner,  affording  in  its 
lower  story  adequate  vestry  and  choir 
rooms;  above,  a  place  for  the  organ  and 
a  full  chime  of  tubular  bells. 

The  effect  of  a  highly  gilded  altar,  the 
covering  baldachino,  the  choir  enclosed 
and  elevated,  as  seen  through  the  vista  of 
a  pillared  nave,  is  exceedingly  rich  and 
magnificent.  In  the  apse  roof  above  the 
altar  is  a  colossal  figure  of  our  Lord  in 
glory  seated,  in  the  Byzantine  style.  In 
front  of  the  apse,  are  the  symbols  of  the 
four  Evangelists,  two  at  each  side.     The 


120       2To  QriiglantJ  anti  $3acfc. 

distant  altar,  the  many  lights,  the  choir  in 
its  place,  and  the  vast  kneeling  throng  of 
men  and  women,  made  a  scene  long  to  be 
remembered. 

It  was  lovely  to  hear  the  grand  vol- 
ume of  sound,  as  the  hymn,  "  Weary  of 
earth  and  laden  with  my  sin,"  rolled  out 
from  all  those  hearts;  a  friend  with  me 
was  singing  bass;  I  said:  "Sing  the  air; 
all  are  singing  it,"  which  at  once  he  did. 
It  seemed  impertinent  to  take  another 
part  than  the  very  soul  itself,  the  distinc- 
tive melody.  In  such  congregational  sing- 
ing- there  was  a  certain  assertion,  and  at 
the  same  time  a  certain  vagueness  which 
belongs  to  real  art,  there  was  a  positive 
form,  but  with  it  a  blending  of  outline 
which  eluded  the  ear,  as  the  same  quali- 
ties  in   a  picture  give  pleasure  to  the  eye. 

Of  Knox-Little's  preaching  what  can  I 
say!  Years  have  passed  since  I  last  heard 
him.  A  certain  tender  interest  attaches 
to  the  moment  when  such  a  man  appears 
before  you  once  again.  Was  he  changed? 
Will  he  preach  as  well?  I  hope  he  is  as 
powerful  as  ever.  These  are  the  thoughts 
which  leap  through  the  mind  as  he 
ascends     the    pulpit,    as     he     kneels     for 


Co  <$nglani>  ano  laarfc.        121 

prayer,  as  he  stands  before  you.  Yes, 
there  he  was,  the  same  slight  figure,  but 
a  little  increased  in  bulk ;  the  same  black 
hair,  but  tonsured  by  the  advancing 
years;  the  same  earnest  face;  but  above 
all  the  same  grand  sympathetic  voice. 
Powerfully  it  rang  out  as  the  text  was 
uttered:  "Blow  the  trumpet  in  Zion, 
sanctify  a  fast,  call  a  solemn  assembly." 
For  an  hour  he  held  us  in  his  hands.  He 
showed  us  glimpses  of  the  great  ques- 
tions of  the  day,  of  the  duty  and  responsi- 
bilitv  of  the  Church  regarding  them,  and 
of  our  personal  share  in  the  whole  mat- 
ter. A  thrilled  hush  was  over  that  con- 
gregation as  the  speaker  came  to  the 
close  of  his  impassioned  peroration.  I 
can  remember  none  of  it,  but  the  effect 
of  the  whole  is  with  me,  capped  and  cli- 
maxed with  the  utterance  of  the  last  word 
in  ecstatic  tones,  the  Name  of  names, 
"Jesus." 

There  was  no  concluding  hymn  or 
blessing  from  the  altar;  the  preacher  him- 
self, after  a  moment's  pause,  gave  the 
benediction  from  the  pulpit,  and  all  was 
over.  I  rather  liked  this  way.  Here 
and  there  were    kneeling   figures,  moved 


i22       &o  ©nglairti  anti  JSack. 


by  the  impassioned  words,  while  the  vast 
throng  moved  out  with  the  impression  of 
the  sermon  fresh  and  undisturbed  in  their 
hearts. 

It    was    a    grand  ending   of    my    Ash 
Wednesday. 

Oxford,  March  2,  1892. 


Co  ffinglanT)  anti  $3acfe.       123 


XIX. 

I  ATTENDED,  by  invitation,  a  meet- 
ing of  the  Church  Congregational 
Music  Association,  held  at  the  Church 
House,  in  Dean's  Yard,  Westminster,  one 
day  last  week.  Church  House,  as  yet,  is 
the  fine  old  mansion  now  occupying  the 
site  hereafter  to  be  covered  by  a  more 
ecclesiastical  pile.  When  the  whole  west 
end  of  Dean's  Yard  is  duly  filled  with  the 
projected  magnificent  building,  it  will  he 
a  worthv  addition  to  that  classic  locality. 
How  quaint  and  black  and  dingy  Dean's 
Yard  appears.  You  look  across  at  the 
unpretending  front,  and  see  where  the 
Dean  of  royal  Westminster  lives,  and  you 
rather  rejoice  that  Archdeacon  Farrar 
has  a  handsome  Gothic  bay  window  to 
look  out  of,  and  let  in  all  that  can  be  got 
of  light,  out  of  the   grey  London  air. 

I  was  welcomed  by  the  genial  secre- 
tary, Mr.  Griffiths,  who  remarked  that 
though  I  had  furthercst  to   come  —  from 


124       Co  ©nglanti  ano  $3arfe. 

Chicago  —  I  was Jirst  there.  We  soon 
had  our  meeting  in  full  blast,  presided 
over  by  Bishop  Mitchinson,  who  remem- 
bered me,  after  the  lapse  of,  perhaps, 
twenty  years,  since  I  visited  him  in  Can- 
terbury. The  report  read  gave  an  encour- 
aging outlook  for  this  young  society. 
The  Bishop  made  an  admirable  address  on 
the  great  need  of  reform  in  our  Church 
music,  and  several  took  part  most  inter- 
estingly, in  the  discussion. 

There  are  several  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  Church  congregational  music, 
much  as  it  is  to  be  desired.  The  first  and 
chiefest  is,  that  to  take  part  in  Matins  or 
Evensong,  one  must  be  able  to  turn  the 
book  readily,  that  is,  find  the  places,  and 
then  there  must  be  the  power  to  read 
fluently  and  well,  otherwise  it  will  not  be 
possible  to  take  part  even  in  the  Psalter, 
when  read,  and  much  less  when  sung. 
An  unvarying  set  of  Sunday  Psalms 
thoroughly  well  known,  like  the  Venite 
or  Canticles,  might  be  learned,  but  the  re- 
curring Psalms  for  the  day  present  diffi- 
culties to  the  ordinary  worshipper.  The 
speed,  too,  of  the  chanting,  with  intri- 
cate harmonies  and  melodies,  all   are   hin- 


2To  <&nglaittJ  anto  13acfe.       125 

drances.  I  have  never  yet  heard  a  clear, 
good  congregational  rendering  of  a  chant; 
the  nearest  approach  to  it  is  the  occa- 
sional singing  of  our  own  traditional  Glo- 
ria in  Excels  is  as  rendered  by  large 
bodies  of  voices  in  our  conventions.  This 
is  slow,  well  known,  and  of  simple  har- 
monic construction,  and  limited  range.  I 
have  recently  looked  over  a  book  of  new 
tunes  here,  and  not  five  in  the  volume 
were  capable  of  congregational  render- 
ing. They  were  one  succession  of  sus- 
pended harmonies,  stimulating  to  a  jaded 
professional  ear,  but  confusing  utterly  to 
the  simple  layman  in  the  divine  art.  It 
was  an  absolute  relief  to  play  over  such 
a  tune  as  St.  Ann's,  and  feel  the  solid 
swing  of  its  clear  melody  and  straightfor- 
ward harmony.  People  can  sing  such 
tunes  taken  with  lots  of  good,  loud  organ, 
a  grave,  steady  well-marked  time,  and  no 
fancy  expression. 

People  speak  of  the  grand  effect  of 
the  German  chorale.  It  is  got  in  this  very 
way.  The  organist  pulls  out  all  his  stops, 
the  tune  is  familiar,  the  time  slow,  and 
the  people  sing  in  unison.  Here  is  per- 
haps the  real  crux.      English   people,  and 


i26       Co  (£nglartD  ano  13acfc. 

Americans  also,  love  to  sing  in  harmo- 
nies. Let  them  do  so,  I  say,  but  let  the 
harmonies  be  as  simple  as  possible,  and 
always  related  to  the  diatonic  scale.  I 
was  in  St.  Mary's,  Nottingham,  last  Sun- 
day evening  —  a  noble  church,  and  grand 
congregation.  Onlv  in  one  chant  was  the 
effect  full,  for  the  people  tried  to  sing,  and 
that  was  a  simple  chant  to  Nunc  Dimittis, 
by  Blow,  in  E  minor.  That  chant  was 
joined  in  all  over  the  church,  while  the 
others,  intricate  and  involved,  were  merely 
muttered  by  the  people.  So  in  the  hymns, 
"Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul"  was  taken  too 
fast,  and  the  last  hymn,  to  a  simple, 
though  sentimental  tune,  was  joined  in 
heartily.  The  Communion  service  prop- 
erly and  simply  set,  forms  the  best  basis 
for  congregational  singing,  because  the 
principal  parts  never  vary,  that  is,  the 
Kyrie,  Credo,  Sa/ictus,  etc.,  and  Gloria 
in  Excelsis.  The  responses,  likewise,  are 
always  the  same. 

In  all  Church  services  the  choir,  as 
such,  is  a  necessary  adjunct,  even  if  the 
choir  be  represented  by  one  acolyte. 
Hence,  a  really  perfect  service  ought  to 
have   priest,   choir,  and    people,    in   active 


2To  <£ng(airtj  anto  -Back.       127 

co-operation.  I  believe  something  like 
the  following  plan  would  improve  our 
services  in  a  congregational  aspect: 

Let  the  opening  part  of  Matins  or 
Evensong  be  taken  on  a  low  note,  and  in 
unison,  responses  and  all,  to  end  of 
Venite.  Let  the  Psalms  be  chanted,  not 
choirwise,  but  by  a  single  voice  in  the 
odd  verses,  answered  by  the  full  choir  in 
the  even  verses.  Let  the  congregation 
follow  as  they  can,  the  full  body  of  sound 
answering  the  single  voice  will  give  cour- 
age for  their  effort;  but  let  all  join  in  the 
recurring  Gloria  Patri.  the  organist 
making  due  pause  for  this  united  outburst 
of  praise.  I  heard  this  effect  produced  at 
the  Festival  Service  in  St.  Paul's  when 
the  full  orchestra  joined  in  with  the 
choir,  at  the  end  of  each  recurring  Psalm. 
On  that  occasion  the  Psalms  were  sung  by 
the  Cathedral  Choir  alone;  other  choirs 
present,  with  the  orchestra,  joining  only 
in  the  Gloria  Patri.  Had  the  people 
been  instructed  to  be  silent  in  the  Ps;ilter, 
until  each  oft-repeated  Gloria  Patri,  the 
effect  would  have  been  sublime.  This 
plan  recognizes,  too,  the  grace  of  listen- 
ing    devoutly     to     Church     music;     for 


i28       Co  ©nglanti  antJ  ^arft. 

I  am  confident  that  the  silent  reading 
of  the  Psalms  by  the  people  as  they  are 
sung  by  the  choir,  is  a  most  spiritual 
exercise  and  meditation,  the  recurring 
Gloria  sung  by  all,  comes  then  with 
heart  and  soul.  The  Te  Deum  and  Can- 
ticles might  be  sung  in  like  fashion,  but 
as  the  Te  Deum  ends  with  the  odd  verse, 
"O  Lord,  in  Thee,  etc.,"  that  verse  might 
be  well  repeated  by  entire  congregation 
and  choir,  like  the  ancient  pneuma.  Four 
simple  settings  of  the  Credo,  of  which 
Merbecke  should  be  one,  would  give 
variety  and  stability  to  the  Communion 
service;  Sanctns  might  follow  the  same 
rule,  while  the  Agnus  and  Benedictus 
might  be  left  generally  to  the  choir. 

One  must  recognize  that  choirs  are  a 
necessary  adjunct  of  divine  service;  con- 
gregational music  must  not  usurp  their 
place,  while  ample  opportunity  for  con- 
gregational music  must  be  given  by 
choirs  in  stately,  well  marked,  simple 
hymns,  chants,  and  responses. 

Oxford,  March  j,  i8q2. 


3To  t^nglnnn  anfc  ^arfe.        129 


XX. 

MY  first  Sunday  in  Oxford,  this 
visit,  gave  me  such  pleasure  that  I 
must  give  in  detail  its  many  delights.  It 
opened  with  an  early  Celehration  at  St. 
Barnahas,  where  was  a  goodly  number  of 
communicants,  and  a  reverent  service.  I 
hoped  to  have  attended  the  later  Celebra- 
tion at  this  church,  when  Fr.  Maturin 
was  to  be  the  preacher,  but  the  historic 
Hampton  Lecture  at  the  historic  St. 
Mary's,  proved  too  strong  a  counter  at- 
traction. To  St.  Mary's  then,  I  went, 
and  was  fortunate  enough  to  meet  one  of 
the  Heads  of  Houses  at  the  door,  who  saw 
that  I  had  an  excellent  seat,  in  a  privil- 
edged  place,  near  the  pulpit. 

There  are  few  more  interesting  sights 
in  Oxford  than  the  delivery  <>f  those 
Bampton  Lectures.  Each  annually  re- 
curring course  witnesses  to  the  generous 
spirit  of  the  Rev.  John  Hampton,  canon 
of   Salisbury,    who   founded   them    many 


ijo       Co  (JPnglanto  ant  i3acfc. 

years  ago.  The  scene  in  itself  is  ever 
fresh  and  attractive.  The  church  of  St. 
Mary  the  Virgin,  Oxford,  is  divided  by 
the  organ  screen  into  choir  and  nave. 
The  latter  is  essentiallv  a  preaching 
place;  a  great  gallery  occupies  the  west 
end  and  north  side;  here  the  undergradu- 
ates sit,  a  goodly  company  —  to  me,  ever 
a  fair  sight,  pathetic  and  inspiring  in  its 
outlook  and  prospects.  Underneath  the 
galleries,  and  in  every  available  space, 
are  seats  for  whoever  can  get  them,  while 
the  great  nave  space  is  set  apart  for  the 
college  dons  of  various  grades.  In  the 
center  of  the  north  side  of  the  nave,  fac- 
ing the  south,  is  a  high  seat  for  the  vice- 
chancellor;  and  directly  opposite  is  the 
historic  pulpit,  where  the  best  brain  of 
Oxford  has  stood  up  to  teach  from  that 
"  Word "  whose  open  page  is  blazoned 
on  the  arms  of  the  university:  Dominns 
illuminatio  mea.  Silently  and  quietly, 
as  English  congregations  can  do  so  well, 
sit  that  great  assembly,  awaiting  the 
formal  entrance  of  the  vice-chancellor, 
the  distinguished  Officers  of  Oxford,  the 
preacher  of  the  day,  and  their  retinue. 
Looking  down  on  the  great  throng  from 


*Fo  <Pnglantr  anfc  ISacfc.        131 

the  choir  screen,  are  the  little  choristers 
whose  duty  it  is  to  lead  the  singing.  They 
are  to  help  in  the  highest  function  of 
all,  higher  than  even  a  Bampton  Lecture, 
which  is  the  praise  and  glory  of  God; 
hut  their  sweet  young  faces  show  no 
consciousness  of  their  mission;  haply  they 
know  it  not,  and  in  this,  their  innocent 
ignorance,  may  they  not  approach  the 
unimj^assioned  service  of  the  very  angels? 

At  last  the  silence  and  our  own  brood- 
ing thoughts  are  broken  by  the  rising  of 
all  from  their  seats  as  the  procession 
enters,  heralded  by  vergers  and  others. 

All  are  clad  in  their  robes  of  office,  but 
in  grave  black.  As  it  is  Lent,  the  gor- 
geous red  gowns  are  not  used,  such  as 
once  I  saw  in  summer  term,  when  years 
ago  I  heard  Pusev  preach. 

The  preacher  on  this  occasion  is 
Bishop  Barry.  lie  at  once  enters  the 
pulpit;  all  kneel  for  a  silent  prayer,  and 
stand  to  sing  that  hymn  which  always 
moves  me:  "  Rock  of  ages  cleft  for  me." 
It  rolls  out  grandly,  swelled  by  the  vast 
mass  of  men's  voices.  I  sing  away  on 
the  first  verse,  but  ;is  I  listen  to  the 
second    in    its    great    subdued   fullness,  I 


Co  (Pttglanti  anti  ISacfc. 


cannot  restrain  my  tears.  How  glorious 
is  congregational  melodic  singing  as  sung 
by  men!  It  is  like  Wagnerian  brasses, 
doing  what  nothing  else  can  do.  There 
is  no  other  service  but  the  reading  by  the 
preacher  of  the  quaint  Bidding  Prayer,  a 
lovely  relic  of  the  past,  ever  fresh  and 
fitting  for  these  times.  All  the  petitions 
for  which  we  are  to  pray  are  recounted 
duly,  and  then,  all  kneeling,  is  said  that 
sum  of  all  prayers,  "  Our  Father." 

The  line  of  thought  indicated  by  the 
preacher  was,  that  as  the  Law  was  a 
schoolmaster  to  bring  us  to  Christ,  so 
science  with  its  law  was  a  servant  to 
bring  us  to  the  knowledge  of  a  living 
One,  the  incarnate  God. 

I  sometimes  think  that  this  constant 
battle  and  apology — well  enough  in  a 
lecture  and  in  a  place  like  this  Oxford 
—  seems  sadly  out  of  place  in  the  aver- 
age pulpit;  one  does  hear  too  much  of  it 
everywhere.  The  general  open  teaching 
of  the  Church  should  always  be  posi- 
tive dogma  and  definite  detail  as  to  dutv. 
This  is  the  shepherd's  work,  to  provide 
food  and  indicate  due  restraint. 

Bishop   Barry   uttered    his    lecture    in 


3To  tJ?nglanto  anb  $3acfe.        133 


grand  style.  There  were  many  noble 
passages;  perhaps  if  fault  there  was,  it 
was  that  all  was  on  one  splendid  height. 
It  kept  me  closely  interested  for  its  hour, 
and  then  the  benediction  from  the  pulpit 
dismissed  us  all. 

From  St.  Mary's,  down  the  "  High," 
over  Magdalen  Bridge  I  went,  and  on  to 
Cowley  Iron  church.  We  entered  as 
Father  Hall  was  concluding  his  sermon, 
and  found  ourselves  in  time  for  the  latter 
part  '>f  the  choral  Celebration.  There 
was  no  pause  after  Christ's  Church  Mil- 
itant prayer  here,  and  a  reverent  congre- 
gation heartily  joined  through  all,  to  the 
close.  I  hope  I  shall  see  the  new  church 
built  at  Cowley.  The  old  Iron  church 
has  many  tender  memories,  but  a  proper 
setting  for  such  services  and  such  preach- 
ing is  sadly  needed.  The  grand  site  on 
[ffley  Road  stands  ready  for  occupancy, 
and  I  am  sure  that  American  Church- 
men owe  many  a  debt  to  Father  Hall 
and  the  .Society  of  St. John  tin-  Evangelist, 
which  offerings  for  the  new  church  here 
would  gracefully  acknowledge.  Of  the 
dinner  succeeding  at  Cowley,  of  the 
sweet   free    hours    in    the   common    room, 


i34       2To  ©ttglanfc  anti  ISarft. 

where  Fathers  Page,  Maturin,  and  Hall, 
were  present,  with  many  others;  of  the 
hours  in  the  chapel,  of  the  pleasant  chat 
resumed  again  in  the  library,  I  can  but 
give  a  glimpse,  and  pass  on  at  once  to  our 
afternoon  walk  to  Iffley  church. 

The  whole  sky  was  overcast  with  in- 
digo clouds,  giving  a  tender  light  upon 
the  brown  landscape,  just  the  setting  for 
that  gray  tower  and  antique  church,  dat- 
ing from  King  Stephen.  The  vicar  met 
us  within  the  walls,  and  pointed  out  the 
rich  Norman  arches,  and  all  the  other 
features  of  this  quaint  building.  But  old 
as  the  church  was,  the  hoary  life  of  the 
great  yew  tree  in  the  churchyard  seemed 
more  awful  and  venerable.  How  sweet 
it  was  to  wander  among  the  graves,  pale 
with  snowdrops,  and  here  and  there 
gleaming  with  the  joyous  gold  of  the 
crocus.  Having:  to  be  back  to  Oxford  for 
Evensong  at  five,  we  soon  turned  our 
steps  thitherward.  The  trees,  the  cot- 
tages, the  clouds,  the  distant  tender  lines 
of  the  landscape,  the  rosy  children  by 
the  wayside,  the  peaceful  groups  of  peo- 
ple out  for  a  walk  like  ourselves,  the 
quaint,  gnarled   old   couple  in  the  comical 


Co  iPnglano  ano  iJarfe.        135 

old  cart  drawn  by  a  most  diminutive  don- 
key, all  gave  us  something  to  look  at, 
and  laugh  at  too,  perhaps,  until  we  were 
once  more  at  Magdalen  Bridge,  and 
turned  in  at  Xew  College,  where  we 
heard  Evensong  in  grandest  Anglican 
style. 

But  before  doing  this  we  had  a  lovely 
turn  or  two  in  the  college  gardens,  to 
occupy  our  time  until  the  chapel  was 
open;  lovely  spot,  with  the  old  ivy- 
covered  walls  of  mediaeval  Oxford  form- 
ing its  boundary  on  one  side,  and  the 
great  Gothic  pile  of  the  college  buildings 
the  other,  while  in  the  midst  are  stately 
trees  and  evergreens,  green  sward  and 
flower  beds,  where  fairy  primroses  are 
asleep,  waiting  for  the  sunshine  to  kiss 
them  into  life. 

The  service  was  the  splendid  and 
sombre Walmsley  in  D  minor,  spoiled  for 
me  because  I  was  under  the  organ  in  the 
ante-chapel.  The  anthem  was  from  Men- 
delssohn, including  "If  with  all  your 
hearts,"  and  (he  quartette,  "Cast  thy 
burden  upon  the  Lord,"  all  sung  angelic- 
ally. The  best  part  of  the  service  was 
the  hymn,  "  When    I    survey    the    won- 


136       Co  (Pnglanto  ana  $3acft. 

drous  cross,"  sung  after  Evensong  by  the 
choir  and  all  the  students.  This  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  blessing,  and  this  again  by 
Stainer's  sevenfold  Amen,  sung,  I  do 
think,  even  better  than  at  St.  Paul's;  and 
so,  after  that  solemn  hush  which  follows 
such  deep  emotions,  the  organ  thundered 
forth,  and  all  the  students,  clergy,  and 
others,  surpliced  as  they  were,  crowded 
out  into  the  ante-chapel,  sitting  about  to 
listen  to  the  concluding  music  of  the 
great  organ. 

A  quiet  evening,  after  all  this  day,  was 
enjoyable.  Even  Father  Hall,  preaching 
in  a  church  near  by,  could  not  entice  us 
out  from  our  fireside.  Cold  as  the  outer 
air  was,  we  could  not  help  opening  our 
windows  as  the  night  wore  on,  to  let  in 
the  clangor  of  the  bells  from  the  tower 
of  St.  Giles's  near  by,  which  in  their 
many  changes  from  half  past  eight  to  after 
nine  o'clock,  seemed  to  bid  us  a  musical 
good  night. 

Oxford,  March  6,  iSg2. 


Eo  <Snglanu  anu  i5arfc.        137 


XXI. 

A  DAY  in  Oxford  brings  with  it 
manv  delights.  I  know  not  of  any 
place  which  so  satisfies  a  reflective  nature, 
one  that  can  be  touched  with  the  glory 
of  the  past,  the  vigor  of  the  present,  and 
the  splendid  promise  of  the  future. 

We  rambled  about,  my  friend  and  I, 
and  cunningly  he  would  brine  me  to 
points  of  picturesque  advantage,  where  on 
either  hand  some  graceful  piece  of  archi- 
tecture would  emphasize  the  vista.  One 
such  lovely  spot  is  to  stand  on  the 
"High,"  opposite  the  .Schools  Building, 
and  see  on  one  hand  St.  Mary's  spire  and 
on  the  other  the  lovely  tower  of  Magda- 
len College,  with  the  graceful  sweep  of 
the  noblest  street  in  Europe  stretching  in 
between. 

Another  such  was  to  stand  outside  of 
Canterbury  gate,  at  the  corner  of  Merton 
Lane     and     Oriel      Lane,     with     Merton 


138       STo  tPnglanli  antj  33acfc. 

Tower  on  one  hand  and  St.  Mary's  spire 
once  more  on  the  other. 

Again  what  a  charm  it  was  to  watch 
the  glimpses  of  the  colleges  as  seen,  now 
in  one  grouping,  now  in  another  yet 
more  beautiful  than  before,  framed  in  by 
the  noble  trees,  or  in  combination  with 
each  other,  and  more  humble,  but  ever 
picturesque,  structures  of  Oxford. 

We  went  calling-  from  college  to  col- 
lege,  in  through  quadrangle  after  quad- 
rangle, under  time-worn  arches,  into 
rooms  piled  high  with  books,  brooded 
over  by  gentle  ease  and  persistent  appli- 
cation and  steadfast,  unselfish  work. 

Our  afternoon's  calling  done,  we  passed 
through  Christ  Church,  and  down  the 
meadow  walk  to  the  river,  where  a  boat 
race  was  to  come  off  at  half  past  four. 
The  day  was  a  trifle  chilly,  snow  flakes 
were  in  the  air,  but  that  did  not  deter  the 
thinly-clad  and  bare-kneed  students  from 
their  sport.  Bright  and  fresh  they  looked 
as  they  crowded  the  barges,  gay  with 
bunting,  and  trooped  along  the  banks 
on  either  side.  The  crews  dropped  down 
the  river  in  their  slender  shells  to  the 
starting   point,  and  soon  the  beginning  of 


Wo  (Pttglanti  artti  *5ark.        139 


the  race  was  announced  by  the  enthu- 
siastic shouts  of  the  impetuous  crowd, 
cheering  the  onward  speeding  crafts. 
On  the  boats  came  in  grand  style,  while 
the  excited  students  on  the  shore  kept 
even  pace,  urging  their  favorites  by 
enthusiastic  shouts. 

The  sky  was  an  English  winter  sky, 
but  the  over-hanging  clouds  were  not 
without  their  beauty.  The  curving 
stream,  the  dashing  boats,  the  gay  colors 
flying,  the  crowd  of  generous  and  splen- 
did fellows  absorbed  in  the  vigor  of  the 
effort,  made  a  charming  picture.  When 
all  was  over,  the  crowd  trickled  off 
through  the  winding  paths  and  up  the 
meadow  walk,  adding  continued  interest 
to  ever  attractive  Oxford. 

In  the  evening,  we  went  to  St.  Bar- 
nabas to  hear  the  first  of  a  series  of  Lent 
lectures  by  Father  Maturin.  There  was 
the  same  crowd  as  on  Ash  Wednesday, 
earnest  and  attentive.  The  service  con- 
sisted of  a  Litany  of  Repentance,  sung 
kneeling,  a  hymn,  and  the  sermon,  and 
such  a  sermon!  But  first,  I  must  tell  of 
Father  Maturin.  He  looks  well  and 
strong,  and  it  seems  to   me  that   his  voice 


i4°       Co  y?nglano  ant)  *3acfc. 

is  more  rich  and  full  than  ever.  A  hush 
fell  over  that  congregation  as  he  gave 
out  his  text  in  the  mellowest  of  tones, 
but  thrilling  to  the  very  core:  "What 
I  would,  that  do  I  not;  but  what  I  hate, 
that  I  do." 

For  nearly  an  hour  he  kept  us  stilled 
with  beating  hearts,  as  he  showed  us  our- 
selves in  our  sinning  freedom,  and  in  our 
almost  despairing  remorse  at  the  sins 
which  we  do,  but  hate;  and  then  with 
sympathetic  and  gentlest  words,  he 
showed  us  how  we  may  do  better, 
through  love  of  Him  in  whose  strength 
we  could  battle  on  and  on  against  our 
faults.  I  never  heard  a  sermon  which 
more  forcibly  showed  the  inside  of  one's 
heart,  the  struggles  and  despairs  of  ex- 
perience, or  which  sounded  out  in  such 
trumpet-tones  the  necessity  for  effort,  and 
the  assurance  of  victory  to  all  who  strive 
to  follow  in  love  the  teaching's  of  the 
Master. 

One  short  Collect  and  the  benediction 
from  the  pulpit,  pronounced  with  pathetic 
tenderness  over  that  deeply-moved  audi- 
ence, brought  all  to  a  close. 

What  follows  is    not  germane    to    the 


STo  (^rtglanu  antr  ISarfc.        141 

foregoing,  but  it  may  as  well  be  said  here 
as  elsewhere. 

One  often  finds  in  England  such  hazy 
views  about  the  American  Church,  and 
this  in  most  unexpected  quarters,  that 
one  longs  to  give  to  our  brethren,  juster 
notions  and  wider  conceptions  as  to  our 
mission  in  the  United  States. 

To  a  true  Churchman,  no  condition  of 
the  Church  since  the  time  of  Constantine 
presents  a  more  interesting  study  than 
our  position  in  America;  a  Church  abso- 
lutely free  from  State  control,  in  the 
usual  sense  of  that  idea,  witnessing  in  the 
most  primitive  fashion  for  the  verities  of 
the  Faith  and  the  divine  constitution  of 
the  Church,  in  the  face  of  the  newest 
development  of  material  progress  and 
assertion.  Ours  are  the  problems  of  the 
first  centuries,  to  win  in  later  times  a  new 
world  for  Christ. 

Surely  in  this  central  Oxford  there 
ought  to  be  some  witness  of  that  mission 
of  the  American  Church,  some  central 
bureau  of  information  which  would  be 
ready  and  able  to  disseminate  such  infor- 
mation, and  some  opportunity  of  showing 
the    Church    existing    as   separated   from 


142       2To  y?nglanti  anto  i3ack. 

governmental  attachment,  entirely  and 
absolutely  a  spiritual  creation.  Ought 
there  not  to  be  here  some  representative 
institution  of  the  American  Church,  itself 
witnessing  to  its  character,  its  mission,  its 
works,  and  its  progress?  With  these 
thoughts  in  mind,  I  have  fancied  that  a 
Seabury  House  here  in  this  central  Ox- 
ford, with  its  resident  priests,  its  own 
chapel  where  the  American  rite  should  be 
followed,  its  courses  of  lectures,  and  other 
aids  of  a  social  nature  for  the  dissemina- 
tion of  true  views  of  the  American 
Church,  would  be  of  immense  importance 
and  of  great  use  to  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land and  ourselves  in  this  great  center 
of  influence,  Oxford. 

This  useful  project  might  be  com- 
menced in  a  modest  fashion,  and,  I  believe, 
would  soon  attract  to  itself  manifold 
gifts,  the  grateful  offerings  of  friends  at 
home  and  travelers  abroad,  happy  at  find- 
ing their  own  home  in  the  Old  Home; 
while  it  would  also  be  a  center  of  use- 
ful influence  for  the  many  Englishmen 
deeply  interested  in  American  affairs,  so- 
cial, commercial,  political,  and  spiritual. 

Oxford,  March  u,  iSgi. 


<ZTo  iSnglantJ  anti  13arfc.       143 


XXTI. 

I  HAVE  been  to  Keble  College  chapel 
for  a  Sunday  evening  service,  and  was 
much  edified.  We  had  a  charming  ser- 
mon from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lock,  one  of  the 
contributors  to  Lux  Mundi.  His  theme 
was  the  selfishness  of  sin  and  the  unself- 
ishness of  love,  or  the  will  to  live  self- 
ishly, which  is  sin,  and  the  will  to  live 
unselfishly,  which  is  love.  It  was  a  sweet, 
tender  appeal  to  the  better  impulses  of 
the  young   men. 

The  students  presented  a  most  inter- 
esting appearance.  The  custom  is  that 
on  Saturdays,  Sundays,  and  Saints'  Days, 
all  shall  wear  surplices.  As  all  stood  in 
their  places  in  that  beautiful  chapel, 
"clothed  with  white  robes,"  it  seemed 
like  an  act  of  special  dedication  to  the 
service  of  Almighty  God,  a  consecration 
of  self,  of  youth,  of  talent,  of  power,  of 
all  the  future, to  high  and  noblo  purposes. 
Keble    College  chapel    is  cpiite   unlike 


i44       £o  <$n giant)  ant)  43a  rfc. 


any  other  in  Oxford.    It  is  a  modern  pre- 
sentation of  the  antique  spirit.     It   glows 
in  color  from  the   stained    glass   high   up 
on  either  side  and  at  either  end,  from  the 
beautiful    arrangement    of    colored   brick, 
variegated    marble,    yellow    Caen    stone, 
and  dark  green  columns.     It   is  one  plain 
parallelogram  of  about  one   hundred  and 
twenty-five     feet     long,     thirty-five     feet 
wide,  and  ninety-five   feet  high,  divided 
into  six  bays,  three   of  which   form  the 
nave,  one  the  choir,  and  two  the   sanctu- 
ary.    The  lofty  walls    are    arcaded    and 
divided    into    panels    by    clustering    col- 
umns, which  tower  up  and   form  the  in- 
terlacing vaulting  of  the  high  embowered 
roof.     The  windows  are  thirty  feet  or  so 
from     the     floor,     and     the     wall     spaces 
beneath  are  filled  in  with  pictured    mosa- 
ics, or   frescoes   in   that   style.      It  would 
occupy  too  much   space  to  give  in  detail 
all  this  imagery;  suffice  it  to  say  that  the 
entire  gospel   story,  from   creation   to  re- 
demption, is    depicted    in    the    nave    and 
choir,  while   over  the   altar  is  a  glorious 
representation  of  our   Lord,  enthroned    in 
the    midst   of    the   seven   golden   candle- 
sticks. 


2To  <$nglairt)  ant)  *3arfc,       145 


The  whole  aspect  of  the  chapel  is 
noble,  generous,  and  worshipful.  The 
lamp  of  loving  sacrifice  has  been  aflame 
in  its  inception  and  construction,  and  it 
breathes  the  spirit  of  a  present  love,  giv- 
ing new  form  to  the  ancient  faith. 

To  some  tastes  the  place  presents  a 
certain  crudeness  of  form  and  assertive- 
ness  of  color,  rather  unpleasant.  It  may 
indeed  be  called  shocking,  but  perhaps  it 
is  to  provoke  this  very  shock  that  the  soft 
aestheticism  of  half  tones  and  dreamy  susr- 
gestions  have  been  entirely  set  aside.  It 
seems  to  say  anathema  maranatha  to  all 
sentimentality  and  haziness  either  about 
conduct  or  dogma,  and  so,  the  form  is 
plain  four-square,  and  the  lines  deter- 
mined, and  the  colors  pronounced. 

The  music  to  the  Psalter  was  Grego- 
rian, and  quite  well  done.  At  times  there 
was  a  slight  tendency  to  want  of  true 
tune,  a  common  fault  where  Gregorian 
music  is  sung,  as  it  so  often  is,  with  full 
voice,  and  none  of  that  restraint  of  tone, 
which  gives  such  good  results  in  An- 
glican chanting. 

The  canticles  were  sung  to  manu- 
script compositions    especially    composed 


146       *TTo  (JPnglantJ  anti  $3acfc. 

for  Keble  College  by  Dr.  Lloyd.  Dig- 
nified in  character,  easy  and  yet  interest- 
ing to  sing,  they  would  form  an  acquisi- 
sition  to  our  own  seminaries 

After  the  services  a  number  of  the 
students  remained  to  listen  to  the  organ 
voluntary  at  the  close.  This  gave  us  the 
opportunity  to  take  in  the  whole  interior 
from  another  point  of  view.  It  is  indeed 
a  splendid  structure,  having  a  grand  spa- 
ciousness about  it,  truly  dignified,  per- 
fectly simple  in  its  severe  plan,  but  made 
graceful  and  beautiful  by  the  high  vaulted 
roof,  the  pictured  walls,  the  brilliant  win- 
dows, and  the  well -placed  altar,  properly 
furnished. 

The  warden  of  Keble  received  us  in 
the  most  gracious  manner,  inviting  us  to 
tea  in  his  beautiful  house.  While  I  sat 
there  my  mind  turned  back  to  another 
room,  as  stately,  if  not  as  spacious — the 
noble  study  of  dear  DeKoven,  resplendent 
with  its  books,  its  pictures,  and  his  own 
gracious  presence.  One  cannot  but  ad- 
mire the  courage  of  faith,  which  endeav- 
ored to  reproduce  on  American  soil,  the 
great  institutions  which  here  have  place, 
backed  up  by  centuries  of   splendid   ad- 


Co  (Pnglanti  anti  $3arfc.        147 

vance,     rich     with     accumulated    endow- 
ments,    showing    on    every  hand,  peace, 
plenty,  and  magnificence.     Dear   Racine, 
Vigeat  Radix. 

My  morning  was  spent  at  St.  Barna- 
bas', at  the  High  Celebration.  I  looked 
with  longing  eyes  at  the  long  lines  of 
school  children  marshalled  to  their  places 
in  church  for  this  service.  I  passed  them 
on  my  way  to  church  and  watched  them 
as  they  entered.  In  they  came  with  per- 
fect order,  quietly  and  reverently,  and 
when  in  their  places,  at  a  given  signal, 
all  knelt  for  private  prayer.  It  was  beau- 
tiful to  hear  these  little  people  sing  Mer- 
becke's  service,  the  Kyrie,  the  Credo,  and 
the  Sanctus,  as  well  as  other  parts  also, 
in  which  they  joined  heartily.  All  over 
the  church  the  sound  of  congregational 
praise  was  heard,  and  the  devotion  of 
the  people  was  truly  Catholic  and  in- 
spiring. Father  Maturin  was  preacher, 
but  a  rigid  rule  which  restricts  the  ser- 
mon to  twenty  minutes,  I  imagine  rather 
restrained  the  free  flow  of  his  genius. 
The  whole  service  which  included  five 
hymns  was  over  in  one  hour  and  a  quar- 
ter.     Hence    of   course  no    one    dreamed 


148       fto  iirnglanfc  ant  13arfc. 


of  retiring  before  the  close   of   the   wor- 
ship. 

A    nisrht    sermon    was    announced    at 
Cowley  Iron  church  to  begin  at  quarter 
to  nine,  by  Father  Maturin.   Thither  we 
went  through    the    moonlight,  lingering 
among  the  effective  bits  which  came  in 
our  way  as  we  passed  along.    We  paused 
by  the  Bodleian,  with  the  Camera  and  St. 
Mary's  before  us;  and  then  lounged  over 
the  balustrade  of  Magdalen  bridge,  watch- 
ing the  lights  on  the  river,  and  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  trees.     The  Lecture  over, 
but,  with  its  John-Baptist-like  refrain  ring- 
ing in   our    hearts,  we  walked  back  once 
more  through  the  moonlit  streets.   Magda- 
len  Tower  and   the  spire  of    St.  Mary's 
seemed  like  spirits  of  the  past; a  thin  haze 
melted  their  upper  outlines  into  viewless 
air.     They  did  not  seem  creations  merely 
of  stone  and   mortar,  but  spiritual    pres- 
ences,   ready  to    speak    to  us  of  all  that 
they  had  seen,  if  we  could  be  alone  with 
them,    and   capable  of  hearing  with  our 
mortal    ears,  their   wondrous   story.     On 
we  passed  through  the  dark  shadows,  and 
broad  moonlit  spaces  to  our  rest. 

Oxford,  March  ij,  1S92. 


<ZTo  (Pnglanti  an*  13acfe.        149 


L 


XXIII. 

ET  me  give  you  a  few  little  sketches 
of  another  day  in  Oxford.  Come 
with  me  then,  first  to  a  hreakfast  with  an 
illustrious  name  in  the  University.  The 
hour  is  quarter  to  nine.  We  are  received 
most  graciously  in  that  sweet,  modest 
way  which  seems  a  part  of  the  splendid 
training  of  those  great  souls.  They  know 
so  much,  it  makes  them  humble  and  gen- 
tle. Soon  our  little  group  is  made  com- 
plete, and  we  take  our  places  in  the  spa- 
cious, quiet  room,  with  its  pictures  of 
departed  worthies  looking  down  upon  us, 
and  its  lovely  outlook  upon  "  a  garden 
enclosed,"  which,  as  Bacon  says,  is  a  true 
refreshment  of  the  spirit. 

Pleasantly  and  profitably  for  both 
body  and  soul,  the  hour  passes.  There 
are  flashes  of  genial  criticism  upon  men 
and  hooks,  upon  great  events,  upon  com- 
ing questions.  The  best  side  of  every 
one    comes    out;    wit    provokes  wit,  and 


150       tTo  ©nglanb  anti  iSatk. 

thought  enkindles  thought.  There  are, 
too,  remembrances  of  the  past.  Pusey, 
Newman,  Keble,  Mozley,  Williams —  of 
each  there  is  some  touch  of  life,  some 
anecdote  which  makes  them  live  again. 
There  is  no  break  or  stop  until  the  time 
comes  to  say  adieu,  and  duty  calls  our 
host  to  other  fields,  while  I  am  left  to 
wander  forth  to  further  pleasures. 

This  comes  in  an  afternoon  excursion 
to  a  spot  coeval  with  Augustine.  My 
friend  and  I  take  train  for  some  miles 
out  from  Oxford,  and  then  tramp  on  for 
miles  to  our  destination.  The  way  is  over 
well-kept  roads,  on  and  on,  by  village 
churches  into  which  we  enter  for  a  mo- 
ment's rest  and  prayer,  and  then  to  foot 
again  and  onward.  Sharp  and  keen  the 
air  is,  but  birds  are  singing  in  the  trees 
and  hedge  rows,  and  high  in  air  the  lark 
utters  his  impassioned  notes,  which  stop 
our  steps  as  we  watch  the  little  speck  he 
makes  against  the  sky,  and  note  his  sud- 
den downward  flutter  to  the  earth.  "  Is 
that  the  lark?  "  my  friend  asks;  "  it  is  the 
first  time  I  have  heard  it;1'  to  which  I  say, 
"  Its  song  was  the  joy  of  my  childhood." 

At  last  a  turn  of  the  road  brings  us 


Co  <£nglanto  anti  $5arfe.        151 

within  sight  of  our  destination.  A  gray 
tower,  a  long  line  of  abbey  roof,  a  cluster 
of  red-tiled  cottages,  groups  of  stately 
trees,  and  distant  hills,  make  up  the  pic- 
ture. Soon  we  are  beneath  the  church's 
roof,  but  before  this,  we  enter  the  vicar- 
age, where  we  are  warmly  welcomed  by 
a  friend  who  knows  us  both.  It  is  the 
welcome  of  an  American  to  Americans. 
We  are  at  once  at  home.  The  American 
flag  hangs  over  a  portrait  of  Washington 
in  the  drawing  room.  Inserted  in  the 
picture  is  an  autograph  letter.  On  the 
mantel  piece  are  portraits  of  Bishop  Sea- 
bury  and  Bishop  White;  around  arc  indi- 
cations of  love  perennial  for  the  home 
across  the  water,  dear  to  us  all. 

At  last  we  enter  the  grand  old  church, 
venerable  in  its  Norman  dignity,  interest- 
ing in  the  evidence  of  transition,  change, 
and  renewal,  not  the  least  of  which  is  its 
present  condition  of  thorough  life.  Each 
day  the  Eucharist  is  celebrated,  Matins 
are  said,  and  Evensong  rendered  in  choral 
fashion.  I  cannot  give  detail  of  architec- 
ture, but  can  tell  of  the  long  drawn  nave, 
the  chancel  with  the  dignified  altar  and 
full  complement  of  ornaments,  of  the  sev- 


152       &o  (flrnglanti  ant  $3ack. 

eral  altars,  each  properly  furnished,  the 
old  effigies  in  battered  stone,  priests  in 
vestments  and  knights  in  armor,  all  in 
the  light  of  the  evening  sun. 

We  wait  for  Evensong  at  six  o'clock, 
which  is  sung  by  a  choir  of  students  from 
a  missionary  college  close  by;  among  them 
are  two  negroes  from  Central  Africa. 
The  office  is  most  reverently  conducted, 
and  the  music  used  was  Gregorian.  It 
was  comforting  to  hear  the  low  pitch 
of  confession,  Paternoster,  and  Creed,  thus 
enabling  the  congregation  to  join  in  with 
ease  and  heartiness.  The  cold  melodies 
of  the  ancient  modes  seemed  exactly  suit- 
able to  that  simple  but  august  spot. 

After  service  we  visited  the  missionary 
college,  and  took  away  with  us  the  pleas- 
ant memory  of  the  sweetest-faced  young 
priest  we  ever  saw,  whose  work  lies  there 
as  instructor — his  blessed  work,  far  from 
the  madding  crowd,  and  great  with  possi- 
bilities for  the  onward  progress  of  the 
Church  of  God. 

In  these  quiet  spots  we  get  a  glimpse 
of  that  real  power  in  apparent  obscurity, 
which  has  its  place  in  many  such  a  condi- 
tion. 


Eo  (England  anti  13acfe.        153 

Once  again  we  return  to  the  vicarage 
for  more  social  chat  until  the  coming  of 
our  carriage  to  take  us  hack  to  the  rail- 
way  station  for  Oxford.  Quickly  the 
time  passed  in  that  pleasant  interchange  of 
mutual  acquaintances  which  travellers  love 
to  make  with  friends  thus  met.  In  that 
pleasant  converse  we  learned  incidentally 
that  a  most  striking  religious  novel  we  read 
a  year  before,  was  written  by  a  priest  who 
lived,  in  the  hamlet,  the  life  of  a  recluse. 
It  hardly  seemed  possible,  but  so  it  was. 
We  learned  further,  too,  that  a  gentle,  deli- 
cate-looking cleric,  to  whom  we  had  been 
introduced,  wielded  a  pen  of  power  and 
brilliancy,  and  that  from  this  secluded 
spot  went  forth  reviews  and  articles  com- 
manding the  profoundest  attention  and 
respect. 

So  our  day  came  to  a  close  with  our 
drive  in  a  welcome  closed-up  carriage,  un- 
der a  moonlit  sky,  to  our  railway  station, 
and  so  home. 

Oxford,  March  16,  i8q2. 


i54       3To  ©nglant)  ant)  *3acfc. 


XXIV. 

MY  days  in  Oxford  drew  all  too  rap- 
idly to  a  close.  Each  was  opened 
with  the  daily  Celebration  at  St.  Barna- 
bas, or  some  other  place,  then  there  was 
the  morning's  work  of  reading,  letter 
writing,  or  an  occasional  lecture,  and  then 
the  afternoon  ramble,  ending  up  with 
Evensong  at  the  Cathedral,  Magdalen 
or  New. 

Among  my  treats  was  a  charming  lec- 
ture from  Sir  John  Stainer,  on  "  Canonic 
Form,"  with  vocal  illustrations,  given  in 
the  Sheldonian  Theatre.  The  choir  was 
made  up  of  ladies  and  undergraduates, 
who  sang  con  amore  the  bits  of  early 
Italian  Masses  and  other  music  used  to  set 
forth  the  master's  lecture. 

I  felt  it  a  sort  of  special  privilege  to 
see  and  hear  Stainer.  His  music  for  choir 
use  seems  to  hit  the  happy  combination 
of  scholarly  form,  average  difficulty  and 
melodic    interest,    so    necessary   to    come 


Co  (Jfnglano  ano  13acfe.        155 

within  the  power,  ambition,  and  scope  of 
the  ordinary  choir.  I  felt  it  also  a  sort  of 
dutv  to  go  and  introduce  myself  to  him 
after  his  lecture,  and  tell  him  that  his 
music  and  himself  were  old  friends,  and 
that  I  was  glad  to  see  him  and  take  him 
by  the  hand.  He  was  standing  on  the 
stage  above  me  as  I  spoke;  the  uncon- 
scious attitude  which  he  at  once  assumed, 
crouching  down  upon  one  knee,  so  as  to 
be  face  to  face  with  me,  was  at  once  an 
illustration  of  his  enthusiasm  and  his  kind 
unaffected  ness. 

From  the  Sheldonian  Theatre  it  was 
but  a  step  to  the  Bodleian  library.  What 
a  grand,  queer  old  place  it  is!  You 
shudder  at  the  thought  of  such  treasures 
in  a  tinder-box  of  wooden  floors  and  dry- 
as-dust  shelving,  hundreds  of  years  sea- 
soning for  a  blaze,  but  vou  are  reassured 
when  you  see  a  placard  announcing  that 
no  artificial  light  or  heat  is  ever  permitted 
there,  and  that  the  direst  vengeance  is 
invoked  upon  any  indiscreet  person  using 
the  same  for  any  purpose  whatever.  A 
great  library  impresses  one  like  the  Cata- 
combs, and  it  seems  sacrilegious  to  do 
more  than    reverent! v    look    thereon,  and 


i56       Co  (jPnglairt)  anb  itfacfc. 


then  in  one's  littleness  pass  on,  leaving 
the  occupants,  bones  or  books,  to  their 
sacred  rest,  or  to  the  potent  touch,  which 
can  make  them  live.  So  from  a  distance 
we  looked  at  the  readers  and  librarians 
and  passed  on.  We  took  note,  however, 
of  one  or  two  show  things,  placed  out- 
side the  charmed  precincts  of  the  inner 
bowels  of  the  library,  for  the  delectation 
of  visitors  like  ourselves.  Our  eves 
glanced  over  manuscripts  and  treasures  of 
early  printing  from  many  years  and 
many  lands,  but  on  one  relic  we  lingered 
with  peculiar  interest.  It  was  an  un- 
rolled fragment  of  papyrus  on  which  was 
written  a  portion  of  the  Iliad.  It  was 
taken  from  the  tomb  of  an  Egyptian  lady 
in  the  Fayoum ;  and  there,  by  the  living 
page  of  Homer,  lay  a  tress  of  the  braided 
hair  of  her  who  read  the  words  before 
me;  and  yet  bevond  was  the  skull  which 
sheltered  the  human  brain,  and  gave 
orbit  to  the  eyes  which  saw  and  the  mind 
which  knew.  It  seemed  a  wrong  thing 
to  have  that  head  there,  but  perhaps  we 
deem  that  when  people  have  been  such  an 
unconscionable  time  dead,  they  have  for- 
feited their   further    privileges    to  respect 


<JTo  ©nglanti  ant>  13acfc.        157 

and  reverence.  Mummies  generally  seem 
to  have  a  bad  time  of  it.  I  see  that  skull 
still,  so  fair  and  round,  and  the  braided 
tress  and  the  page  of  Homer. 

I  walked  on  through  the  great  corri- 
dors of  the  upper  hall,  filled  with  curios, 
books,  and  the  pictures  of  famous  men 
and  women;  a  little  gift  of  Archbishop 
Laud  attracted  me.  It  was  an  Arabian 
astrolabe  to  take  the  position  of  the  stars; 
another  near  it,  arranged  for  the  latitude 
of  Morocco,  was  the  gift  of  Selden.  They 
brought  up  visions  of  "  curious  arts,"  of 
horoscopes  and  astrologers,  and  those  who 
know  the  heavenly  bodies.  I  asked  my- 
self, if  sun  spots  affect  our  weather,  why 
may  not  planets  affect  the  subtler  essences 
of  our  being?  All  things  inhere  in  suit- 
stance,  and  why  may  not  substance  acton 
substance  through  the  vast  mystery  of  the 
universe  ? 

At  last,  Saturday,  the  nineteenth  of 
March,  came,  and  I  had  to  get  me  to  Lon- 
don to  preach  at  the  Savoy  on  Sunday,  so 
the  afternoon  saw  me  regretfully  in  the 
train,  sweeping  away  from  that  brave 
concourse  of  spires,  and  domes,  and  flood- 
encircled  groves,  which  make  up  Oxford. 


158       <&o  (Pnglanto  anb  33arfc. 

What  must  this  last  sweet  glimpse  be  to 
those  who  know  they  never  will  return — 
"  the  spires  and  towers  of  Oxford,  from 
the  railway!  "  But  before  I  leave,  I  must 
say  that  among  the  many  pleasant  mem- 
ories of  Oxford,  few  stand  out  with  more 
vividness  than  those  of  my  little  visits  to 
the  college  common  rooms.  There  is  a 
delightful  seclusion  in  them,  and  a  cheer- 
ful companionship  which  is  most  inspir- 
ing. 

You  have  dined  in  Hall  and  enjoyed 
even-  moment  of  it — the  genial  hospital- 
ity, the  good  fare,  the  free  open  talk;  but 
after  all  those  good  things,  something  bet- 
ter yet  awaits  you;  you  are  ushered  into 
the  sacred  privacy  of  the  common  room, 
and  there  an  hour,  or  more  is  spent  in 
genial  leisure,  wise  and  playful  talk,  and, 
with  it  all,  the  inner  man  is  by  no  means 
forgotten . 

In  one  pleasant  room,  dark  with  its 
panelled  sides  and  ceiling,  before  its  ample 
lire-place  were  ranged  in  semi-circle  aline 
of  chairs  and  tables,  all  facing  towards  the 
altar  of  friendship,  the  blazing  hearth. 

Surely  such  a  custom  of  friendly  and 
scholarly  intercourse   must   have  an  excel- 


Co  ©nglano  ano  $3acft.       159 

lent  influence  upon  the  lives  of  all.  One 
here  learns  how  men  may  differ  as  to 
view,  but  be  the  best  of  friends,  how  they 
may  be  intent  in  the  little  circle  of  their 
own  pursuits,  but  yet  know  also,  full  well, 
of  that  greater  circle  of  human  sympathies 
and  immortal  aims  which  embraces  all 
souls  within  its  limits.  Such  intercourse 
must  refine,  broaden  and  enlarge  those 
who  arc  within  its  genial  power. 

I  should  like  to  see  such  a  common 
room  for  the  Professors  in  our  seminaries, 
where  they  could  have  daily  social  inter- 
course, and,  for  a  brief  hour,  at  least,  be 
removed  from  carking  care,  and  the  in- 
tense consciousness  of  the  individual  bur- 
den. 

Another  room,  which  will  dwell  in  my 
mind,  was  large  and  handsome.  The 
wax  tapers  upon  the  well- polished  ma- 
hogany did  not  dispel  the  friendly  gloom 
of  the  dark  corners,  nor  bring  into  promi- 
nence the  features  of  the  portraits  upon 
the  walls.  Glimpses  of  the  past  they 
seemed,  and  not  without  a  living  sympa- 
thy with  the  geniality  of  the  hour.  What 
a  picture  it  all  made — the  leaping  lights 
of  the  great  coal   fire,  the  grave  gowned 


160       <ZTo  (?nglanti  ana  $5ark. 

figures,  sitting  or  standing,  the  table  itself 
a  picture,  and  the  silent  servitors,  ever 
moving  with  soft  tread,  and  meeting  read- 
ily every  want. 

Happy  hospitality  of  dear  Oxford,  this 
much,  at  least,  we  may  say  of  it,  drawing 
aside  for  a  moment  the  veil,  and  letting 
out  between  its  antique  folds  the  evi- 
dences of  friendship  and  good  feeling,  ever 
perennial  among  noble  souls. 

London,  Marc//  ig,  i8g2. 


3To  tPtiglantJ  ant)  i3acfc.       161 


XXV. 

AFTER  leaving  Oxford,  I  was  in- 
duced to  add  a  few  days  to  my  last 
Sunday  in  London,  by  the  announcement 
of  some  choice  music  to  be  performed  in 
the  succeeding  week.  Beethoven's  Post- 
humous Quartette  was  to  be  produced, 
with  Joachim  as  violinist,  at  the  Monday 
popular  concerts,  in  St.  James'  Hall. 
Bach's  great  Mass  in  B  minor  was  to  be 
given  at  the  same  place,  bv  the  Bach 
Choir,  on  Tuesday  evening,  and  the  new 
Requiem  Mass,  by  Dvorak,  would  be 
performed  under  the  leadership  of  Barn- 
aby,  with  choir  and  orchestra  of  one 
thousand  persons,  at  the  Royal  Albert 
Hall,  on  Wednesday  night.  Was  I  not 
on  a  vacation  ?  Ought  I  not  to  embrace 
the  opportunity  ?  I  concluded  to  do  so, 
and,  with  this  intent,  stayed  in  London. 
My  Sunday  had  again  its  beginning  at 
the  Abbey  at  eight  in  the  morning, then  at 
half-past  eleven,  to  the  Royal  Chapel  of 


162       Co  (JFnglanfc  ant)  ISacft. 


the  Savoy,  where  Canon  Curteis  received 
me  most  cordially,  and  where  again  I  re- 
newed my  acquaintance  with  the  choir, 
arrayed  in  their  purple  cassocks,  girt  with 
crimson  cords,  and  surplices  ever  flying 
open  down  the  front,  making  due  display 
of  the  royal  colors. 

The  services  in  this  quaint  place  were 
severely  simple.  The  choir  sang,  in  uni- 
son, single  chants  to  the  Venite  and 
Psalter,  double  chants  to  the  canticles; the 
Celebration  was  without  either  choir  or 
music,  but  with  great  dignity  and  solem- 
nitv.  The  chapel  has  the  organ  at  the 
west  end,  on  the  main  floor;  this,  with  the 
simple  chanting  of  the  choir,  induced  and 
aided  the  good  congregational  singing. 

My  afternoon  was  spent  at  St.  Nicho- 
las Cole  Abbey,  one  of  Wren's  old  city 
churches,  on  Queen  Victoria  Street.  I 
saw  that  Mozart's  Requiem  was  to  be 
sung  there  at  quarter  past  three.  I  found 
the  place  well  filled  on  my  arrival,  but  the 
quick  eye  of  Canon  Shuttleworth,  the 
energetic  incumbent,  soon  espied  me,  and 
at  once  I  had  a  choice  seat  in  the  rec- 
tor's pew  in  front.  I  could  look  around 
ere    the     performance    began,   and     note 


Co  (£nglano  ano  33acft.        163 

every  spot  filled  with  citv  people,  clerks, 
shop  women,  workmen,  all  intent  on  the 
music,  and  reverent  in  their  quiet  de- 
meanor. 

The  choir  was  composed  of  men  and 
women,  and  a  few  instrumentalists  were 
in  the  organ  loft  at  the  west  end.  When 
the  clergy  entered  with  surplices  on,  the 
congregation  arose,  a  short  prayer  was 
said,  with  the  Lord's  Prayer,  then  after 
the  short  rap  of  the  baton,  the  music 
proceeded  without  break  to  the  end. 
Canon  Shuttleworth  conducted  with  vigor 
and  ability,  arrayed  in  his  surplice  and 
Oxford  hood.  The  music  was  quite  fairly 
done,  wonderfully  well  considering  the 
place  and  the  material.  The  orchestral 
players  were  from  the  East  London 
Music  Halls,  and  it  is  pathetic  to  know 
that  they  absolutelv  refuse  pay  for  their 
services  on  those  Sunday  afternoons  in 
church;  they  are  glad,  they  say,  to  help 
on,  and  to  play  in  such  music,  which  they 
never  could  use  otherwise.  At  the  close 
of  the  Requiem,  which  was  printed  in 
Latin  and  English  for  the  use  of  the  peo- 
ple, the  whole  congregation  joined  in  the 
hymn,  "  O  God,  our  help  in  ages  past," 


1 64       2To  <£nglanTi  anii  ISacfc. 

to  the  grand  "  Old  St.  Ann's  "  tune.  It 
was  glorious.  I  fancied  that  as  the  choir 
sat  and  listened,  they  must  have  felt,  as  I 
did,  that  that  simple  strain  outweighed  in 
magnificence  all  the  music  that  went  be- 
fore.  It  was  nobly  sung  by  lusty  Eng- 
lish throats. 

The  performance  over,  I  had  a  little 
chat  with  the  incumbent,  who  told  me 
that  when  he  took  the  church,  there  were 
scarcely  six  people  in  attendance;  now  it 
is  well  attended  and  crowded  on  special 
occasions.  "  Come,"  said  he,  "  and  I  will 
show  you  our  club.  It  is  for  men  and 
women,  and  the  only  one  of  its  kind  in 
London."  After  a  climb  of  some  steep 
stairs,  we  found  ourselves  on  the  third 
and  fourth  floors  of  a  warehouse,  nicely 
fitted  up  for  social  purposes,  and  well 
filled  with  people.  The  large  drawing 
room  looked  a  cozy  place  to  lounge  in, 
its  large  and  irregular  shape  divided  off 
by  screens  into  sociable-looking  nooks. 
In  the  shadow  of  one  sat  a  good-looking 
young  woman  intent  on  her  book,  at  ease 
in  her  chair  before  a  good  fire.  At  the 
end  of  the  room  was  a  raised  stage,  with 


2To  (Pnglanti  ar\Xt  iSacfe.        165 

scenery  and  footlights  for  dramatic  per- 
formances. 

Upstairs  further  we  went  and  peeped 
into  the  smoking  room,  blue  with  the  fra- 
grant weed.  Thence  we  went  to  the  sup- 
per room,  where  a  crowd  of  "pale  clerks  " 
and  their  lady  friends  were  having  a  lay 
out  of  tea  and  cake.  We  happened  in 
just  at  the  moment  when  the  "  omnipo- 
tent British  penny,"  in  the  shape  of 
."  thruppence  apiece,"  was  being  collected 
from  each. 

What  new  phases  of  Church  work  and 
life  it  all  sets  forth.  From  shops  and 
warehouses,  utterly  isolated  in  their  Sun- 
day seclusion,  those  lone  atoms  of  human- 
ity are  garnered  in  and  given  a  cheery 
word  and  some  social  pleasures.  The 
rector  moved  among  them  a  genial  friend, 
a  helper  in  this,  their  organized  work  to 
help  and  cheer  each  other. 

Of  the  good,  kind  hospitality  which 
came  to  me  in  the  parson's  own  home 
hard  by,  a  cozy  nest  in  the  very  heart  of 
this  London,  1  can  hut  speak.  A  glimpse 
of  domestic  life,  of  beautiful  children  and 
well-ordered  home,  is  always  a  thing  of 
joy  to  the  traveler* 


166       Co  <£nglano  anfc  !3acfe. 

As  I  was  on  music  bent,  I  gave  up  the 
evening  to  an  excursion  to  the  northeast 
of  London,  where  I  had  heard  that  the  re- 
sponses and  Gregorian  Psalms  were  won- 
derfully given  in  a  Dominican  Priory.  I 
was  not  disappointed  and  found  the  place 
in  good  time,  and  the  music  to  be  all  that 
it  was  represented.  The  monks'  voices, 
the  choir  men,  and  the  chorister  boys,  en- 
tirely without  accompaniment,  produced 
marvellous  effects.  I  could  not  make  out 
the  service  very  well;  possibly  it  had 
Dominican  peculiarities.  The  Psalms 
were  sung  antiphonally,  one  side  in  uni- 
son, the  other  in  harmonies,  with  the 
treble  voices  taking  beautiful  Faux  Bour- 
bon parts.  The  side  which  took  the  uni- 
son part  always  stood  up  while  the  other 
side  remained  seated,  and  so  alternately 
from  side  to  side  through  the  Psalms. 
Responses  and  Amens  were  all  given  in 
this  free  manner  without  organ.  Some 
of  the  antiphons,  as  sung  by  the  Fathers, 
sounded  quite  like  the  efforts  of  Wagner. 
I  did  not  see  a  soul  about  me  pretending 
even  to  follow  the  service,  either  with 
book  or  posture;  only  at  the  Benediction 


flTo  (£nglanti  anti  iiacfe.        167 

after  sermon  was  there  a  show  of  congre- 
gational interest. 

I  came  home  on  trams  and  omnibuses, 
through  a  very  torrent  of  human  life 
whose  vortex  seemed  to  be  reached  at 
Charing  Cross. 

My  next  night,  when  Joachim  per- 
formed, was  a  joy  to  be  remembered.  I 
must  however  hasten  on  from  this  to  an 
account  of  the  great  work  by  Bach,  the  B 
Minor  Mass,  given  by  the  Bach  Choir, 
which  I  heard  the  next  evening.  The 
Bach  Choir  itself  is  worth  seeing.  It  is 
composed  of  real  lovers  of  music  which 
taxes  the  intellect,  the  physical  powers, 
and  then  the  heart.  It  is  a  sort  of  music 
which  gives  not  up  its  charms  to  careless 
wooers.  The  members  did  not  look  like 
this  sort  of  people;  they  were  serious,  re- 
fined, genteel  and  reverent.  It  was  pleas- 
ant to  note  their  pleasant  greetings  of 
each  other  as  they  straggled  into  their 
places  before  the  concert  began. 

A  certain  tone  of  sadness  was  cast  over 
the  performance  by  little  printed  slips  with 
mourning  edge,  placed  upon  the  seats,  in- 
forming the  audience  that  the  Dead  March 
in    Saul  would   be   played    as   an  opening 


168       £o  ©nglan*  an*  13acft. 

piece,  in  memory  of  the  composer,  Mr. 
Goring  Thomas,  who  a  few  days  before 
had,  in  a  fit  of  mental  aberration,  cast 
himself  headlong  to  death  under  the 
wheels  of  a  locomotive. 

The  work  of  Bach  shows  the  tread  of 
a  giant,  the  tenderness  of  a  true  soul,  and 
the  heart  of  a  faithful  believer.  The 
Kyrie  was  a  great  burst  of  confident 
pleadings  for  a  known  pardon  and  peace; 
the  Gloria  in  Excelsis  seemed  the  very 
joy  of  the  heavens,  and  the  Credo,  in  its 
every  iteration  of  text,  first  gave  elabora- 
tion to  the  faith  there  uttered,  and  then  to 
the  musical  thought.  I  never  heard  so 
rapturous  a  setting  in  my  life,  and  never 
expect  to  hear  it  excelled;  so  on  it  went 
through  Sanctus,  Be?iedictus,  and  Agnus, 
to  the  grand  triumphant  close  of  Dona 
nobis  pace  in. 

With  the  effrontery  which  gray  hairs 
can  give,  I  boldly  shared  my  score  with  a 
dear  English  girl  near  me;  I  never  saw 
her  before,  and  may  not  ever  again.  We 
enjoyed  every  bar  of  the  music,  and,  when 
the  Benedictus  was  ended,  she  said  to  me 
with  a  very  rapture  of  delight:  "  The 
Hosanna  comes  again!  "     We  were  com- 


<ZTo  (J?nglani>  anti  ISarfc.        169 

pletely  en  rapport  in  the  study  of  that 
great  music,  and  when  she  rose  to  leave 
with  her  party,  and  bent  her  gracious 
head  and  thanked  me  for  the  pleasure  I 
had  given  her,  I  felt  as  if  we  had  known 
each  other  for  years.  It  is  indeed  deligfht- 
ful  to  touch  the  chords  of  sympathy  in 
kindred  hearts,  though  utterly  unknown 
to  each  other  in  the  lower  planes  of  ordi- 
nary life.  This  occurs  so  often  in  one's 
travels  in  railroad  cars,  by  the  wayside,  or 
in  galleries  of  art. 

On  my  way  once  to  Oxford,  I  had  a 
most  delightful  hour  with  two  utter 
strangers.  Our  talk  touched  on  all  sorts 
of  things,  from  Greek  sculpture  to  eco- 
nomic questions  of  the  present  dav.  They 
were  both  Oxford  men,  and  one  of  them 
hailed  me  heartily  one  day  on  the  Wood- 
stock Road,  weeks  afterwards,  as  an  old 
friend. 

But  touching  Bach's  Mass,  I  must  add 
one  word  more  about  the  conductor,  Dr. 
Villiers-Stanford.  lie  quite  charmed  me 
with  his  gentle,  quiet  ways,  and  the  gen- 
uine enthusiasm,  always  well  restrained, 
with  which  he  conducted.  There  were 
no  frantic  grimaces,  no  pantomime  illus- 


i7°       Wo  <$nglanto  anb  tJarfc. 


trations  or  suggestions  for  orchestra  or 
chorus,  but  a  grave,  gentle  dignity 
throughout  all.  Dr.  Villiers  is  a  handsome, 
tall  fellow,  with  his  years  yet  young  upon 
him.  I  could  not  but  admire  him  as  he 
glowed  with  pleasure  while  the  stupend- 
ous work  unfolded  itself  beneath  his  hand 
and  before  his  eyes,  when  choir  and  or- 
chestra gave  splendid  utterance  to  the 
great   thoughts  of   Bach. 

I  noticed  that  the  orchestra  had  in  it 
some  peculiar  instruments,  among  them  a 
long  trumpet  of  most  slender,  shining 
build,  but  with  a  voice  like  a  mighty  an- 
gel, pure,  strong  and  sweet.  The  sym- 
phonies, too,  had  most  vocal  effects,  so  that 
it  really  seemed  as  if  reeds  and  brasses 
gave  forth  human  tones.  The  whole  per- 
formance, continuing  through  two  hours 
and  a  half  of  solid  work,  was  most  mag- 
nificent. I  must  add  one  word  more  yet, 
and  that  is  to  speak  of  the  solemn  effect 
of  the  Dead  March  in  Saul,  as  played 
before  the  performance.  I  never  had 
heard  it  with  orchestra,  and  it  grave 
the  touching  composition  an  added  charm, 
increased  by  the  standing  attitude  of  the 
players    and   the   whole   audience   in   that 


Co  ©nglantj  ant  *5ark.       171 

vast    St.  James'   Hall,  in    memory  of   the 
sad  death  of  Loring  Thomas. 

The  next  night  found  me  in  the  Royal 
Alhert  Hall,  to  hear  Dvorak's  Requiem. 
Let  me  warn  my  friends  to  be  always  on 
good  time  at  that  place.  The  spaces  are 
so  vast  to  get  to  your  seat,  that  it  almost 
seems  a  century  before  you  reach  it,  espe- 
cially if  the  performance  has  already  be- 
gun, as  it  had  in  my  case.  But  what  one 
loses  in  one  way  is  gained  in  another. 
Those  who  were  there  in  time  could  not 
have  my  experience  of  that  vast  hall  as  it 
burst  upon  my  sight  from  the  almost  dizzy 
height  where  I  had  chosen  my  seat.  I 
could  look  down  on  the  great  concourse 
of  people,  and  the  ordered  ranks  of  the 
enormous  choir.  The  ladies  of  the  chorus 
were  all  dressed  in  white,  one  side  having 
blue  •-ashes  from  shoulder  to  waist;  the 
other,  red  sashes  in  the  same  manner. 
This  great  mass  of  white  touched  with 
color,  and  enclosed  by  the  great  back- 
ground of  the  men  in  evening  dress,  all 
against  the  silver  gray  organ  pipes,  made 
quite  a  solemn  and  stately  picture.  It 
suggested  to  me  a  kind  of  Egyptian  mag- 
nificence.    The  statuescjue,  severe  drapery 


172       Co  (Pnglanti  anti  Uacfc. 

of  the  singers  carried  out  the  effect.  I 
could  not  see  Barnaby  distinctly,  across  the 
immense  space,  but  was  glad  to  see  him 
even  in  this  dim  way.  Fie  handled  the 
tremendous  difficulties  of  the  Requiem  in 
a  wonderful  manner.  That  vast  choir  did 
its  work  splendidly;  but  I  felt  sure  that 
our  own  Auditorium  with  the  Apollo 
Club,  and  Tomlins,  could  produce  it  as 
well.  The  work  itself  is  built  upon  a 
wailing  theme  of  four  notes,  which  sighs 
out  its  prayer  in  the  first  phrase,  and  then 
ever  reiterates  it,  Dona  eis  requiem.  The 
most  noble  effects  are  the  reminiscences 
or  reproductions  of  ancient  Church  song, 
recurring  m  solemn  phrase.  The  text  is 
illustrated  throughout  by  the  sound,  and 
the  orchestra  is  used  as  a  vast  tone  pencil 
to  fill  in  the  background  with  lurid  colors 
and  awful  forms.  Verdi's  Requiem  I 
have  heard,  and  Mozart's,  the  first  the 
more  dramatic,  the  second  perhaps  the 
more  strictly  melodic;  but  Dvorak's  has  a 
glowing  magnificence  all  its  own,  sug- 
gesting the  tremendous  spaces  of  some 
vast  cathedral,  with  kneeling  multitudes 
and  responsive  choirs  and   priestly  voices 


Eo  ©nglanti  anti  ISacfc.       173 

uttering  ever  in   solemn  tones:     Requiem 
in  eternam. 

Next  morning  I  left  London  for  a  quiet 
visit  with  a  dear  friend,  of  which  you  will 
shortly  hear. 

London,  March  25,  1892. 


i74       <ZTo  (Pnglanti  nnti  iSacft. 


I 


XXVI. 

HAVE  had  such  a  charming  visit 
of  five  days  at  B B ,  in- 
cluding therein  a  lovely  Sunday,  that  I 
must  give  you,  as  far  as  possible,  the  ben- 
efit of  it  all.  Away  then  by  train  to  the 
station,  where  a  neat  trap  and  smart  liv- 
ery await  us,  and  off  we  go  through 
wooded  scenes  to  our  destination.  We 
pass  village  after  village,  each  with  its 
cross-tipped  church,  until  at  last  the  noble 
tower  and  spire  of  B B sa- 
lutes us.  We  are  received  at  the  hospita- 
ble parsonage,  and  are  soon  at  our  ease 
before  a  fire  in  our  bedroom,  dressing  for 
dinner.  That  pleasant  meal,  begun  at 
half-past  seven  o'clock,  is  enjoyed  in  a 
large  old  hall,  hung  about  with  good  pic- 
tures,  and  decorated  with  all  manner  of 
bric-a-brac.  We  are  a  small  company, 
the  young  parson  and  myself  tHc-a-tete. 
There  is  much  to  talk  about,  our  first 
meeting  years  ago,  our  accidental  coming 


2To  (PnglantJ  anu  iiarfc.        175 


together,  years  after,  in  New  York,  our 
common  friends,  our  common  antipathies, 
our  likes  and  dislikes,  our  hopes,  our  ex- 
periences, our  failures,  our  resolves. 

Dinner  over,  we  pass  the  rest  of  the 
evening  in  the  spacious  drawing-room, 
whose  walls  glow  with  artistic  treasures. 
There  hung  a  genuine  Raphael,  there  a 
Giotto,  there  a  Perugino,  there  a  Mem- 
ling,  old  Florentine  pictures  with  hack- 
grounds  of  gold,  flanked  by  Flemish 
tryptychs  and  quaint  panels,  while  be- 
neath were  rare  old  cabinets  laden  with 
curious  'dass  and  old  china.  Books  too 
were  in  abundance,  but  the  best  thing 
there,  to  my  mind,  was  the  modest  young 
owner  of  it  all,  heir  to  all  this  wealth,  and 
of  a  noble  line,  earnest  and  enthusiastic  in 
his  work  as  a  village  parson.  As  an  in- 
dication of  that  genuine  love  which  comes 
into  the  heart  of  the  true  priest,  I  must 
tell  you  of  a  picture  on  his  library  man- 
tel-piece. It  was  a  photo  of  a  London 
policeman,  a  fair,  good  face  of  a  stalwart 
steady  man.  "That,"  said  my  host,  as 
he  saw  me  looking  at  it,  "  is  a  picture  of 
one  of  my  young  fellows,  a  clear  good 
lad,  now  one  of  the  picked   men    on   duty 


i;6       Eo  <£nglanu  anU  laarfc. 

on  the  Strand.  He  writes  to  me  every 
fortnight."  It  warmed  my  heart  to  think 
of  the  two  correspondents,  the  London 
policeman  and  his  young  rector  in  the 
country. 

Next  morning'  I  was  at  the  handsome 
church  for  the  daily  Matins.  Dainty  and 
magnificent  both,  was  the  beautiful  struc- 
ture. The  tower,  spire,  and  nave  date  from 
the  thirteenth  century  and  are  in  perfect 
preservation.  The  choir  and  chancel  have 
been  erected  within  the  past  few  years, 
joining  on  with  absolute  harmony  to  the 
more  ancient  part.  All  has  been  put  in 
the  best  order  by  Bodley,  the  great  Eng- 
lish church  architect.  The  church,  though 
small,  had  a  most  noble  effect,  from  the 
spacious  windows  in  north  and  south 
aisles,  in  the  choir,  and  in  the  clere-story. 
Mere  verbal  description  of  architectural 
detail  seldom  conveys  a  clear  idea.  Stand 
then  in  the  nave  and  look  at  the  choir 
end;  you  see  a  perfect  rood  screen,  with 
the  rood  upon  it  and  .St.  Mary  and  St. 
John ;  over  the  altar  is  a  rich  gilt  reredos 
with  a  quaint  old  German  picture  of  the 
Ascension.  On  each  side  are  rich  hang- 
ings, above  a  glorious   window  of  perfect 


Eo  ^nglanti  anti  Hack.       177 

glass,  while  the  altar  has  its  proper  orna- 
ments, and  standard  candelabras  in  addi- 
tion. The  nave  and  choir  are  lit  with 
candles  held  in  chandeliers  and  candle- 
sticks of  beaten  iron,  made  in  the  village, 
thoroughly  artistic.  Before  each  choris- 
ter, on  the  desk  is  a  tall  taper.  You  can 
imagine  then  the  effect  of  all  this  at  night 
—  a  flood  of  light  among  the  singers  and 
the  people,  while  in  the  high  roof  is 
gloom,  except  where  a  line  of  gold  or  a 
touch  of  color  reflects  back  the  lustre  from 
below. 

The  services  on  Sunday  were  a  delight. 
The  sweet  hells  called  us  to  the  early  Eu- 
charist! Through  the  churchyard  paths, 
from  the  village  near  came  the  little  groups 
to  the  silent  waiting  church.  It  was  good 
to  kneel  in  the  restful  quiet  of  such  a 
place  and  await  the  reverent   Celebration. 

At  eleven,  the  church  was  filled  for 
choral  Matins.  What  a  rest  it  was  to  sit 
in  the  return  stalls  in  our  surplice,  and  have 
all  done  for  us,  and  take  no  other  part  than 
that  of  a  worshipper.  Our  turn,  however, 
came  afterwards,  for  we  were  put  up  to 
preach  at  night,  and  preach  we  did,  and  I 
fear  too  long,  but    the  inspiration  of   time 


178       Co  Uriiglano  an*  Back. 


and  place  was  irresistible;  we  forgot  that 
the  congregation  expected  to  get  home  in 
good  time  for  supper,  the  service  begin- 
ning at  6  o'clock.  That  long  sermon  was 
rather  on  our  conscience,  until  at  night  we 
got  some  relief  from  our  host's  butler,  as 
he  brought  us,  when  we  were  in  bed,  a 
cheering  and  soothing  posset  for  our  cold, 
accompanying  the  same  with  the  assuring 
and  flattering  remark:  "  That  was  a  nice 
sermon  you  gave  us  to-night,  sir;  we  all 
liked  it."  I  turned  in  to  sleep  at  peace 
with  all  mankind. 

The  next  day  I  had  a  drive  of  sixteen 
miles  with  my  genial  host,  from  one  par- 
sonage to  another.  A  snow  shower  had 
fallen  during  the  night,  but  ere  noon  it  had 
vanished.  The  sky  was  pure  cobalt,  well 
furnished  with  sumptuous  masses  of  fleecy 
clouds.  Young  lambs  by  hundreds  gam- 
boled in  the  pastures,  a  fresh  green  tint  of 
new  wheat  was  on  the  brown  fields,  and 
so  we  bowled  along  over  good  roads,  by 
church  after  church,  and  village  after  vil- 
lage, until  at  last  the  spire  of  B B 

again  came  in  sight  and  we  were  once 
more  at  home. 

I  must  speak  also  of  the  village  school, 


3To  (Snglanti  anto  *5arft.        179 

with  the  organist  school  master  and  his 
assistants.  Happy  boys  and  girls  in  one 
long,  picturesque  room,  with  its  good  ven- 
tilation and  roaring  fireplaces  at  each  end. 
Happy  little  ones  in  the  kindergarten  de- 
partment, big  with  the  importance  of  their 
momentous  bead  work  and  other  weighty 
concerns.  I  must  speak,  too,  of  the  quaint 
blacksmith  shop,  where  I  recognized  sev- 
eral of  the  choir  men  and  choristers,  and 
revelled  in  the  artistic  beauty  of  iron  deftly 
wrought  into  sanctuary  lamps,  chandeliers, 
candlesticks,  and  other  objects  useful  for 
home  as  well  as  church. 

It  was  an  added  pleasure  to  my  Satur- 
day, Sunday  and  Monday  in  this  sweet 
place,  to  have  a  big  batch  of  American 
letters  handed  me  to  read,  before  I  was 
out  of  bed  this  morning. 

B D ,  March  s8,  /Sgs. 


180       <ETo  tPnctlanU  anU  13acfc. 


XXVII. 

MY  stay  in  Brighton  during  Holy 
Week  and  Easter  has  been  a  sort 
of  climax  to  my  "  Winter  Vacation." 

A  note  from  the  good  vicar  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew's, the  Rev.  T.  W.  S.  Collis, 
reached  me  in  Oxford  inviting  me  down 
to  take  what  duty  I  desired,  on  Palm 
Sunday  and  the  week  following.  I  un- 
dertook to  preach  twice  on  Palm  Sunday, 
twice  on  every  day  in  Holy  Week,  ex- 
cept on  Good  Friday,  when  I  was  to  con- 
duct the  service  of  the  "  Three  Hours," 
and  preach  also  at  night.  This  episode 
of  work  during  my  vacation  was  most 
welcome. 

On  my  way  to  Brighton  I  passed 
through  London.  It  was  the  day  of  the 
University  boat  race.  This  I  could  not 
by  any  possibility  attend;  but  as  I  had 
seen  one  of  the  crews  on  the  river  at  Ox- 
ford,   and    had    also    once  seen    a    similar 


Co  (Pnglano  ano  43arfc.       181 

event  from  the  vantage  ground  of  a  charm- 
ing lawn,  with  the  added  interest  of  good 
company  and  a  good  luncheon,  I  did  not 
so  much  miss  the  sights  on  this  occasion, 
when  there  would  be  nothing  for  me,  ex- 
cept the  jostling  crowd. 

London  never  looked  brighter.  It  was 
all  asdow  with  light  and  color,  and  seemed 
like  a  new  place  under  the  phenomenal 
sunshine.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  pub- 
lic interest  in  the  boat  race;  dark  blue  and 
light  blue  vied  everywhere  for  promi- 
nence. It  was  on  the  cabbies'  whips,  on 
the  caps  of  the  omnibus  conductors,  in 
buttonhole  bouquets,  in  the  shop  windows, 
on  ladies' hats,  everywhere.  1  had  a  little 
visit  to  make  between  my  trains  up  at 
Chelsea,  near  Cheyne  Walk,  sacred  to 
Carlyle,  the  Rossettis,  George  Eliot, 
Whistler,  and  hosts  of  artists  and  literati. 
I  do  not  wonder  at  the  selection  of  such  a 
place  for  residence,  for  it  is  a  -dickered 
nook  well  withdrawn  from  the  crush  and 
roar  of  London,  and  has  the  Thames  be- 
fore it,  with  the  double  daily  sweep  of  its 
grand  tidal  current.  Opposite,  too,  is 
Battersea  Park;  I  was  tempted  by  its  trees 
and  shrubbery    to   take  a  stroll   there  mv- 


182       STo  iPnglantJ  anfc  $3acfc. 

self  before  making  my  call.  It  was  de- 
lightful to  find  such  a  spot  so  accessible  in 
crowded  London.  Great  stretches  of 
green  sward  were  there,  flocks  of  sheep 
on  the  grass,  and  embowering  branches  to 
shut  out  all  else  but  a  dream  of  sylvan  se- 
clusion. I  enjoyed  it  all,  especially  the 
little  groups  of  children,  happy  and  con- 
tented in  their  sports. 

My  little  visit  was  upon  a  dear  good 
lady,  whom  I  had  not  met  for  twenty 
years,  but  seeing  that  I  was  in  England, 
she  sent  for  me  to  talk  of  her  son  in  Holy 
Orders  in  the  American  Church. 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  mother's 
heart  evince  its  love,  and  to  read  the  news- 
paper clippings  which  told  of  the  young 
civil  engineer  going  out  to  Indiana,  how 
he  took  interest  in  Church  work  as  a  lay- 
man, how  he  attracted  the  notice  of  his 
priest,  how  he  was  introduced  to  the 
Bishop,  how  he  entered  Gambier,  and  in 
due  time  took  holy  orders,  and  was  in  a 
few  months  to  be  made  himself  a  priest. 
Our  pleasant  talk  had  to  end,  for  I  had  to 
get  back  into  the  Strand  before  I  took  my 
train  for  Brighton.  The  tide  was  at  the 
full,  the   river   was   thick   with  returning 


Eo  drnqlant}  anti  $3acfc.       183 

steamers  and  boats  from  the  races,  a  bright 
sparkle  was  over  everything,  and  it  seemed 
the  very  thing  to  do,  to  take  a  steamer 
down  to  Charing  Cross  Wharf.  Over 
and  over  again  I  had  seen  it  all,  but  it 
seemed  fresh  as  ever  as  we  went  from 
station  to  station,  reaching  at  last  the  su- 
perb group  of  the  Parliament  Houses  and 
Westminster  Abbey. 

The  ebb  and  flow  of  the  Thames  make 
it  seem  majestic,  to  have  a  life  and  force 
all  its  own;  it  is  like  the  throb  of  being  or 
the  conscious  action  of  a  mighty  will. 
The  Thames  at  London  is  really  noble; 
above  tidal  effects  it  seems  merely  a  pretty 
stream,  but  it  is  that,  charming  in  its  ever 
peaceful  course  through  quiet  greenery. 

I  must  say  that  I  never  tire  of  the  grand 
effect  of  .St.  Paul's  as  seen  from  the  river. 
It  towers  up  with  graceful,  majestic  sim- 
plicity, above  the  life  of  London.  On 
this  bright  day  it  seemed  more  glorious 
than  ever.  The  flowing  lines  of  the  dome 
reaching  up  to  the  great  cross,  suggested 
the  confidence  and  harmony  of  the  Faith, 
soaring  above  the  varied  and  contradictory 
aims  of  time.  Underneath  was  the  tur- 
moil of  housetops,  apparently  a  heap  with- 


184       Co  uFnglano  ana  iiarfe. 

out  ruling  plan,  but  each  the  centre  of 
keen  personal  aims.  Above  was  that 
shapely  dome  surmounted  by  the  cross, 
telling  of  the  one  great  plan  of  God,  for 
the  salvation  of  the  whole  world. 

Landing  at  Charing  Cross  Wharf,  I 
took  a  farewell  turn  or  two  once  more 
in  that  ceaseless  tide  which  ever  pours 
through  the  Strand,  and  then  a  penny  bus 
to  Victoria  station,  and  off  to  Brighton. 
The  way  was  cheered  by  a  charming 
group  in  the  railway  carriage,  a  young 
couple  with  child  and  nursemaid  off  for  a 
holiday.  Why  did  I  not  speak  to  them 
and  have  a  chat!  He  was  so  bright  look- 
ing, with  a  dark  complexion,  clear  eyes, 
well  cut  features  and  kindly  air.  She  was 
also  beautiful  and  a  brunette,  with  a  great 
dash  of  yellow  in  her  hat  that  became  her 
immensely.  The  boy  was  a  fairy,  lovely 
as  a  dream,  clad  in  sailor  fashion,  with  a 
Neapolitan  cap,  and  was  half  the  way, 
deep  in  a  picture  book.  The  maid  was 
by  no  means  a  beauty,  and  occupied  her 
time  with  The  Graphic  and  Tid  Bits. 
In  one  corner  of  the  car  was  another  pas- 
senger, a  young  lady  plainly  dressed,  deep 
in  the   perusal  of   a  reporter's  note  book ; 


<Eo  g&itglaitfi  anti  13arfe.       185 

one  of  that  numerous  class, "  self-support- 
insr  women."  I  watched  her  intent  air, 
her  business  look,  her  occupied  manner, 
and  thought  of  the  toil  and  suffering  such 
gentle  souls  endure,  and  hoped  she  had 
her  reward.  We  all,  close  together,  yet 
far  apart,  whirled  on  to  Brighton  on  a  fast 
train,  through  the  green  English  fields 
dotted  with  cricketers,  foot  ball  players, 
and  all  the  other  signs  of  that  healthy  out- 
door British  life. 

At  last  we  pulled  up  at  the  station, 
when  the  young  lady  reporter  asked  the 
gentleman  opposite  if  this  was  the  place 
to  get  out  at.  "Really,"  said  he,  "  I  do 
not  know,  hut  fancy  it  is."  It  appeared, 
after  all,  that  I  was  the  only  person  in  the 
compartment  who  had  been  to  Brighton 
before.  It  was  many,  many  years  ago, 
when  1  went  to  call  on  a  dear  friend  of 
DeKoven's;  strange  that  his  name  and  his 
fame  should  come  up  before  me  again 
here  in  Brighton  in  t In-  visit,  for  a  few 
davs  after  my  arrival,  when  invited  to 
have  my  picture  taken  at  Fry's,  the  emi- 
nent photographer's,  the  young  man  in 
attendance  asked  me  if  I  knew  Dr.  De- 
Koven.     "  Years  ago,  sir,  I   saw    him   in 


1S6       Co  (JFnglanto  anti  ^arft. 

Bath;  I  was  then  a  very  young  man,  but 
I  was  wonderfully  taken  with  him." 

A  hearty  welcome  awaited  me  at  St. 
Bartholomew's  vicarage,  and  soon  I  was 
settled  with  study  and  bed  room,  as  con- 
tented and  happy  as  if  I  had  been  there 
for  years.  The  vicar  suggested  ere  it 
should  grow  dark,  a  visit  to  the  church. 
We  entered  that  vast  interior,  and  the 
awful  Cistercian  simplicity  of  it  was  over- 
powering. It  is  all  plain  brick,  but  even 
as  a  vast  host  made  up  of  mortal  men  has 
its  own  sublimity,  so  this  great  pile  told 
its  own  story,  in  its  own  grand  way.  The 
light  streamed  in  from  the  upper  windows 
in  a  great  flood,  softened  by  the  evening 
hour.  The  effect  of  the  interior  of  this 
great  building  is  superb.  There  is  a  flood 
of  light,  but  you  see  no  windows.  They 
are  concealed  from  view  by  the  immense 
thickness  of  the  walls,  and  the  supporting 
buttresses  which  project  into  the  church. 
In  its  way,  it  is  quite  as  impressive  as 
Westminster  Abbey,  and  for  purposes  of 
worship  excels  it. 

The  great  altar  with  the  seven  lamps 
hanging  in  front  dominated  the  whole 
building.     It  stands  elevated  fourteen  steps 


Co  <£nglanlJ  anti  $3acft.        187 

from  the  main  floor,  and  is,  with  the  great 
haldachino,  most  noble  in  its  proportions. 
This  church  is  one  of  the  seven  built  in 
Brighton  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wagner,  who 
is  still  living.  They  must  have  cost  a 
million  dollars  at  least,  for  this  one,  St. 
Bartholomew's,  cost  one  hundred  thou- 
sand. Oh!  but  what  a  church  for  grand- 
eur and  simple  dignity  it  is!  I  had  the 
extreme  pleasure  of  being  introduced  to 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Wagner.  Quiet,  unaffected 
as  a  child,  his  bright  face  lit  up  with  a 
holy  light  as  I  told  him  how  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's impressed  me.  "  I  suppose,"  said 
he,  "  you  must  have  some  great  churches 
in  your  wonderful  Chicago?"  A  whirl 
went  through  my  mind  of  all  the  trials  and 
perplexities,  and  efforts,  necessary  in  our 
difficult  sphere  to  effect  anything;  and  so, 
with  a  gasp,  I  said  we  had  some  churches 
that  were  quite  creditable  and  witnesses 
to  much  love  and  sacrifice,  but  none,  said 
I,  as  yet,  like  St.  Bartholomew's. 

Xext  Sunday  was  Palm  Sunday.  We 
had  the  blessing  of  the  palms  and  their 
distribution,  with  a  procession,  before  the 
High  Celebration.  It  was  a  tremendous 
sight  to  look  out  over  that  vast  congrega- 


1 88       Co  <£nglano  ano  *3arfc. 

tion,  their  faces  touched  by  the  vivid  light 
of  the  bright  day,  and  above  them  the 
clouds  of  incense,  through  which  the  sun's 
beams  grrandly  Gfleamed  in  four  cn-eat  hi- 
minous  slanting  bars,  from  the  four  lancet 
windows  in  the  end  of  the  church. 

The  music  used  was  the  Missa  Regia 
with  Merbecke's  Creed,  evidently  well 
known,  as  the  people  joined  in  heartily. 
The  sermon  was  my  share  of  the  work. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  preached 
to  such  a  congregation  in  England,  but  a 
feeling  of  encouraging  sympathy  came  up 
to  me  from  the  vast  mass  of  upturned 
faces  quietly  and  intently  awaiting  my 
first  utterance.  Before  the  High  Celebra- 
tion began,  I  had  been  into  the  "  little 
church,"  an  adjoining  building,  crowded 
with  children,  boys  and  girls,  while  a 
Missa  Cantata  was  in  progress;  at  this, 
the  little  ones,  with  their  own  choir,  and 
with  full  ritual  propriety,  say  the  entire 
service.  The  young  priest  who  officiated 
was  especially  happy  in  His  sermon  and 
catechizinsr,  and  the  children  brisrht  in 
their  answers.  A  force  of  teachers  and 
sisters  were  stationed  with  the  children,  and 
the  best  order  and  reverence  prevailed. 


«Fo  (PnglantJ  atiti  i3arfc.        189 

The  usual  number  of  guilds,  for  all 
classes,  men,  women  and  children,  have 
place  in  this  parish,  with  a  club  also  for 
men,  but  the  busy  work  of  Holy  Week 
prevented  my  attendance  or  study  of  them. 

Of  all  that  week  I  cannot  speak,  as  I 
was  a  great  part  of  it  myself.  It  was  a 
blessed  week  for  me  as,  day  by  day,  I  looked 
out  over  the  attentive  and  sympathetic 
consrregfation.  The  "  Three  Hours  "  ser- 
vice  impressed  me  most.  There  must  have 
been  at  least  a  thousand  people  present. 
The  singing  was  inspiring.  My  theme 
was,  "Life  Lessons  from  the  Seven 
Words,1'  and,  as  hymn  after  hymn  rolled 
out  with  its  familiar  words  and  well  known 
tune,  1  was  comforted  and  delighted. 

The  church  was  a  very  De  prqfundis 
in  itself,  every  ornament  gone,  the  altar  in 
black,  and  back  of  it  on  high,  an  enor- 
mous Tan  cross  in  oak,  with  the  place  for 
the  sacred  Feet,  the  nail  holes  in  the  wood, 
and  above  all  the  Title  with  its  inscriptions 
in  Hebrew,  in  Greek  and  in  Latin.  During 
Matins  and  the  Reproaches  which  preced- 
ed the  Three  Hours,  I  could  not  keep  my 
eyes  from  it.  That  empty  cross,  with  a 
great  white  cloth  draped  over  the  extend- 


190       5To  UFnglanfc  ant»  $5acfc. 

ed  arms,  seemed  to  me  the  most  solemn 
memento  of  the  Crucifixion  I  ever  saw. 
It  preached  silence  and  sorrow  over  all 
that  vast  church  and  hushed  congregation. 
The  "  Three  Hours  "  moved  on  as  I  have 
ever  found,  with  a  strange  rapidity.  In- 
tense occupation  takes  away  from  time  the 
quality  of  extension.  A  moment  may  be 
seemingly  infinite,  and  hours  as  a  mere 
hand-breadth. 

On  Easter  Even  I  spent  hours  in  the 
church  watching  the  busy  workers  getting 
ready  for  Easter.  Flowers  were  every- 
where, tufts  of  the  dear  yellow  English 
primrose,  spirea,  lilies,  snow-white  aza- 
leas, and  other  blossoms  I  did  not  know. 
Above  the  great  altar  was  the  sexton  plac- 
ing the  enormous  candles  and  flower  vases, 
afterward  to  get  the  finishing  touches 
from  the  sisters  and  their  helpers.  Of 
this  sexton  I  must  speak.  He  is  a  wiry 
little  Japanese,  with  coal  black  hair  and 
grizzled  beard,  keen  and  alive  all  over. 
Fudi  seems  never  idle;  the  whole  of  the 
vast  church  he  cleans  himself,  and  con- 
stantly as  it  is  thronged,  it  always  seemed 
dustless  and  ready.  He  seemed  to  look 
at  me  as  a  sort  of  fellow  foreigner,  for  he 


£To  <$nglanii  anti  13arfc.        191 

was  always  most  pronounced  with  his 
hearty  salutation,  bringing  the  open  palms 

of  his  hand  front  face  to  his  forehead 
whenever  we  met,  with  a  bright  smile  of 
recognition.  It  is  a  picture  to  see  him 
ring  the  bell  from  his  place  at  the  end  of 
the  church.  lie  has  a  loop  for  his  foot, 
and  with  that  leverage  he  makes  light 
work  of  it.  When  he  rang  the  bell  three 
and  thirty  tolls  at  the  close  of  the  Three 
Hours  service,  beginning  at  a  signal  from 
mv  uplifted  hand  at  the  stroke  of  three,  I 
could  not  help  thanking  God  that  Chris- 
tian Fudi  was  there  to  join  in  the  work. 

While  T  was  loitering  about  the  church 
one  of  the  wardens  met  me  and  told  me 
that  he  had  been  in  connection  with  St. 
Bartholomew's  over  twenty  years,  and 
that  for  vears  he  was  the  only  man  in  at- 
tendance. What  a  contrast  from  to-day  ! 
—  a  distinctive  characteristic  of  the  ser- 
vices is  now  the  large  attendance  of  men. 
It  struck  me  at  once  as  T  went  round  with 
the  procession  on  Palm  Sunday,  and  the 
impression  remained  with  me  during  all 
the  services  of  Holy  Week,  especially  the 
solemn  service  of  the  Three  Hours. 

It  was  my  happy  privilege  to  celebrate 


192       Co  ^nglano  antj  i3ack 


at  six  o'clock  on  Easter  Sunday;  that  was 
the    second    service  of   the   day,  and   four 
more  were  to  follow  before  the  high  ser- 
vice at  eleven.      I  need  not  say  how  one's 
heart  remembers  distant   friends,  and   the 
souls  of  those  so  well  beloved   who  have 
gone  before,  on   such  an    occasion.     The 
very    separation    of    time,  and    space,  and 
condition,    seems    a    spiritual     connection 
rather  than  a  real  barrier.      The  soul  can 
leap  out  over  all  that  divides,  and  triumphs 
over  them  thus  in  its  inherent  wonderful 
power.     At  this  service  there  was  a  goodly 
number  to  receive,  and   glad  I   was  to  see 
the    seamed   and    blackened   hands  —  the 
hands  of  labor  —  held  up  for  the  Bread  of 
Life.      How    touching    to    look  at    them, 
some  of  them  those  of  mere  children.    One 
little  lad  had  a  C.  B.  S.  medal   hung  by  a 
red   cord    about  his  neck.     What  a  solace 
it  is  to  administer  at  the  altar,  and   to  note 
the    varying    conditions    of    men,  and    to 
know  that  He  can  satisfy  every  need,  and 
cleanse  from  all  defilement. 

At  the  nine  o'clock  Celebration  I  was 
in  church  again  to  assist  at  the  Commun- 
ion, and  after  that,  at   the   High  Celebra- 


Co  u?nglano  ano  Uarfe.       193 

tion  at  eleven.  This  was  preceded  by  a 
solemn  procession  most  impressive.  Ba- 
den Powell's  "  Hail  !  Festal  Day,"  was 
grandly  sung,  the  ever  recurring  chorus 
being  heartily  taken  up  by  the  vast  con- 
gregation. In  this  as  well  as  in  various 
portions  of  the  service,  most  efficient  aid 
was  given  by  a  skilful  cornetist.  With 
rare  tact  he  accompanied  all  through  the 
music,  now  on  the  euphonium,  now  on  the 
trombone,  the  French  horn  or  the  cornet. 
The  man's  heart  was  in  his  work.  I 
knew  why  afterwards,  when  I  saw  him 
come  faithfully  to  serve  at  some  of  the 
early  Celebrations  on  week  days. 

The  music  of  the  service  was  Eyre 
in  E  flat.  Its  familiar  cadences  carried  my 
thoughts  far  away.  It  was  grandly  sung. 
The  whole  solemn  service  with  priest, 
deacon,  and  suh-deacon  properly  vested, 
and  with  most  careful  and  dignified  ritual, 
was  an  object  lesson  in  the  reality  of  the 
historic  Church,  the  dogmatic  verities  of 
historic  truth,  and  the  solemn  importance 
of  religion. 

Father  Maturin  was  the  preacher. 
His  sermon  was  a  brief  but   intensely  im- 


194       ATo  <£ng!airti  anfc  iSack. 

passioned  oration  on  the  necessity  of  keep- 
ing a  due  proportion  between  the  heart 
and  head  in  matters  of  the  Faith.  The 
Magdalene  at  the  empty  tomb  declaring 
with  a  rush  of  feelin™-  that  her  Lord  was 
taken  away,  was  the  type  of  love  regard- 
less of  reason,  while  Thomas  who  would 
not  believe  unless  he  could  jout  his  fingers 
into  the  print  of  the  nails,  and  thrust  his 
hand  into  the  wound  in  the  side,  was  a 
type  of  reason  regardless  of  love.  The 
thought  was  enlarged  upon  with  a  mas- 
ter's hand.     It  was  a  glorious  sermon. 

In  the  afternoon  I  attended  the  chil- 
dren's serivce  and  catechising.  There 
were  no  flowers,  no  sentiment,  no  Easter 
eggs,  but  there  was  positive  dogma  and 
clear  teaching,  and  Catholic  worship.  The 
whole  vast  church  was  filled  with  children. 
It  was  beautiful  to  see  the  little  ones  watch 
the  banners  as  they  moved  by  in  their 
mysterious  and  grave  motion.  To  me 
there  was  something  impressive  in  the 
gentle  and  unimpassioned  faces  looking 
down  upon  us  from  their  silken  folds. 
My  own  thoughts  were  reflected  from 
the  rapt  faces  of  the  little  ones,  as  they 
watched  their  banners  carried  past. 


2To  ^nglanti  anti  Back.       195 


At  Evensong  the  church  was  more 
than  crowded.  Father  Maturin  again 
preached.  A  grand  procession  brought 
the  services  of  the  day  to  a  splendid  close. 

Brighton,  April  iS,  i8q2. 


196       2To  ®nglanb  ant  ISacfc. 


XXVIII. 

MY  last  day  in  England  had  peculiar 
charms  and  was  full  to  the  brim 
with  interest.  The  friends  with  whom 
I  was  staying  in  Bolton,  Lancashire, 
asked  me  what  I  would  like  to  see,  the 
Town  Hall,  the  Museum,  the  Picture 
Gallery?  They  said  nothing  of  the  mills, 
nor  the  wild  moors  all  beyond,  breezy, 
and  grandly  monotonous,  so  I  replied  that 
I  could  see  town  halls  and  museums  al- 
most anywhere,  but  that  I  should  like  to 
go  into  a  cotton  mill,  and  then,  after- 
ward, take  a  tramp  over  the  moors,  while 
I  had  the  opportunity. 

Down  from  the  little  villa,  mercifully 
hemmed  in  by  shrubbery  from  the  great 
chimneys,  we  descended  to  one  of  the 
enormous  cotton  mills.  I  was  taken 
through  the  whole  process,  from  the  raw 
cotton  to  the  delicate  and  completed  co- 
coon-looking bobbin,  ready   to   be   trans- 


Co  ©nglanti  anti  ISack.       197 

formed  into  the  woven  fabric.  Machines 
were  stopped  for  me,  the  interior  intrica- 
cies of  their  wonderful  construction  were 
moved  slowly  so  that  I  might  observe 
their  complicated  and  beautifully  certain 
operations.  It  was  all  like  a  kind  of 
magic;  there  was  a  thunderous  din,  and 
silent  figures  moving  about  among  the 
whirling  spindles,  dreadfully  intent  upon 
their  unceasing  toil.  Conversation  there 
could  be  none,  and  the  ceaseless  whirl  of 
the  wheels  forbade  idle  loitering.  As  I 
walked  about  from  room  to  room,  in  the 
heated  air,  laden  with  cotton  Muff,  and 
saw  the  silent,  busy  figures  intent  upon 
their  work,  I  understood  as  never  before 
what  a  luxury  the  loud  talk,  and  the 
coarse  frolic,  and  the  free  movement  of  a 
holiday,  must  be  to  such  work-people. 
What  a  relief,  too,  must  be  the  song  and 
the  chat  when  day  is  done,  and  silence 
settles  down  upon  the  mill;  but  here  1  am 
wrong,  silence  scarcely  ever  settles  on  the 
mill.  It  is  worked  by  two  sets  of  hands, 
and  runs  continuously,  day  in  and  day 
out,  except  during  the  hours  from  2  A.  M. 
until  6  A.  m.  On,  and  on,  and  on,  the 
vast  machinery  must   ever  go.     It  is  too 


198       Co  (Pnglanfc  anfi  $3acft. 

delicate,  too  complicated,  too  ponderous, 
to  be  ever  allowed  to  get  cool. 

The  operatives  had  a  sort  of  fascina- 
tion for  me,  as  they  went  on  so  plod- 
dingly and  yet  keenly  alive  to  their  toil. 
In  one  room  were  two  girls  feeding  a 
roaring  machine  with  lumps  of  raw  cot- 
ton which,  with  a  graceful  motion,  they 
tore  apart  and  flung  in  special  order  upon 
a  moving  frame  before  them.  The  noise 
was  terrific.  Their  eyes  were  intent  upon 
their  work,  as  their  arms,  with  incessant 
motion,  fed  the  voracious  machine. 

This  was  the  first  process  from  the 
cotton  bale.  We  followed  on  until  the 
cotton  wool,  like  cobwebs  upon  dewy 
grass,  was  drawn  from  the  carding  ma- 
chines, on  and  on  until  the  perfect  thread 
was  formed,  and  spun  upon  the  great 
machines,  each  with  its  thousand  spindles 
and  hundred  feet  of  length. 

Keenly  the  master  operative  with  his 
boy  assistants  watched  those  thousand 
threads.  Backwards  and  forwards  from 
either  side,  the  great  machines  advanced 
and  receded,  while  in  the  ever-changing 
space  between,  the  workers  were  in  con- 
stant motion,  stepping  mechanically  over 


Co  (Snglanto  antj  15adt.       199 

the  advancing  wheels,  never  making  a 
false  step;  eve  and  hand  and  thought  ever 
alert  and  at  work. 

The  atmosphere  was  hot  and  moist,  to 
suit  the  tender  filaments  of  the  cotton 
wool;  the  floor  looked  dark  and  polished, 
saturated  with  oil;  on  this,  with  bare  feet 
and  grimy,  scanty  overalls,  moved  the 
spinner,  his  piecers,  and  the  boys.  I 
watched  them  intently,  'mid  the  fearful 
clatter  of  the  wheels,  the  constant  motion 
of  the  machinery,  and  the  silent  alertness 
of  their  own  ceaseless  toil.  It  enlarges 
one's  heart  and  increases  one's  sympa- 
thies to  see  such  sights. 

From  the  mills  to  the  moors  was  a 
transition,  and  a  grateful  one.  A  car- 
riage drive  brought  us  through  outlying 
suburbs  to  our  destination,  where,  send- 
ing our  vehicle  on  to  meet  us  beyond,  we 
tramped  across  the  breezy  heath,  over 
moss  and  fell,  another  way.  The  free  air 
of  heaven  never  seemed  so  good  before. 
In  the  dim  distance,  on  every  side,  were 
the  tall  chimneys  of  collieries  and  facto- 
ries, a  forest  of  human  energy  and  toil. 
Smoke  in  clouds  hung  ever  them,  but 
above  our  heads  the    larks    were    singing, 


200       £o  OrnglanTj  antJ  Jtiacfc. 

the  bright  clouds  floated  by  in  billowy 
state,  and  the  bee  and  blossom  were  at 
our  feet. 

We  all  too  soon  reached  our  carriage 
and  found  a  neighboring  old  English  inn 
not  a  bad  place  to  rest  a  little,  where  we 
duly  enjoyed  the  wine  of  the  country  in 
the  shape  of  beer,  and  bread,  and  cheese. 
The  room  in  which  we  sat  was  worth 
seeing.  It  was  wainscoted  and  seated 
with  comfortable  benches,  almost  as  dig- 
nified as  a  cathedral  choir.  On  the  man- 
tel-piece was  a  picture  of  Archer,  the 
jockey,  surrounded  by  numerous  lesser 
lights  in  his  exciting  profession,  and  the 
room  was  further  ornamented  with  sev- 
eral brilliant  hunting  scenes.  The  imag- 
ination could  easily  fill  in  a  winter's  even- 
ing with  "  cakes  and  ale,"  and  songs  of 
hound  and  hunting  horn,  and  "jolly  good 
fellows,  every  one." 

From  the  moors  back  to  town  again, 
and  then  by  train  for  Chester,  which  I 
duly  reached  by  6:  10  p.  M.  Here  were 
other  dear  friends  to  welcome  me,  friends 
linked  by  kindred  memories  of  those  long 
at  rest.  When  I  announced  that  I  was 
to    take     the    Irish    mail    that    nisrht    for 


Co  <£nglano  ano  ftacfc.       201 

Kingstown,  via  Holyhead,  there  was 
much  disappointment,  but  with  true  deli- 
cacy the  most  was  made  of  my  brief  stay. 
Out  then,  after  tea,  for  one  more  walk 
about  the  walls  of  Chester.  What  a 
lovely  close  to  my  day,  beginning  in  the 
morning,  at  the  mill;  at  noon,  upon  the 
wild  moors;  at  evening,  at  the  Minster, 
drinking  in  the  beauty  of  the  setting  sun, 
as  it  shone  upon  the  Dee  side,  and  the 
towers  and  battlements  of  Chester!  It 
was  a  lovely  walk,  looking  down  upon 
the  green  sward  of  the  great  race  course, 
dotted  with  cricketers,  and  boys  at  sport; 
out  over  the  graceful  stretch  of  landscape 
to  the  Welsh  mountains;  on  by  the 
waters  of  the  Dee,  watching  the  changing 
lights,  and  the  fishermen  at  their  work; 
on  and  on,  until  we  reached  the  cathedral, 
and  leaned  over  the  parapet  of  the  old 
walls,  chatting  of  old  times  and  watching 
the  darkness  creep  down  over  all,  until 
the  lace-like  forms  on  gable  and  pinnacle 
were  alone  distinguishable  in  the  dark 
and  sombre  mass.  It  was  all  most  beau- 
tiful. We  strolled  back  in  the  darkness 
to  the  home  fireside,  where,  in  pleasanl 
converse,    we    passed    the    time    until    the 


202       Co  U5nglano  an"&  $3acfe. 

midnight  hour,  which  took  us  off,  through 
Wales,  by  Holyhead,  across  the  Irish 
Sea,  landing  us  in  the  morning  at  the 
picturesque  harbor  of  Kingstown. 

Our  last  day  in  England,  with  its  pic- 
tures of  the  mills,  the  moors,  and  the 
Minster,  will  not  soon  be  forgotten. 

Adamstovjn,  Ireland,  April  22,  i8g2. 


Co  (JSnglanb  anc  ftacfc.       203 


XXIX. 

MY  stay  on  the  return  to  Ireland, 
waiting  for  the  steamer,  which 
1  take  to-morrow  at  Queenstown,  has 
been  of  the  quietest  description.  As  I 
passed  through  Dublin,  I  learned  that  the 
Synod  of  the  Church  of  Ireland  was  to 
convene  in  a  day  or  two,  at  Christ  Church 
cathedral.  There  was  a  momentary  de- 
sire to  stay  over  and  witness  it,  but  sun- 
shine and  clouds  and  green  fields  and 
utter  rusticity  for  eight  or  ten  days  before 
embarking,  seemed  altogether  better  and 
more  inviting,  and  that  was  my  choice. 
I  had  in  mv  retreat,  it  is  true,  the  echoes 
of  the  world  I  had  left;  pleasant  letters 
from  Brighton,  imitations  to  come  again 
and  enjoy  English  hospitality,  farewell 
letters  from  dear  friends.  I  had,  too,  my 
American  mail,  and  with  all  these  I  was 
happy;  with  the  dun  cows  grazing  before 
me,  and  lambs  at   play   by   their    mothers 


204       &o  vSnglano  anti  $3acfc. 

in  the  grass,  days  were  never  dull  with 
such  companions. 

The  walk  by  the  trout  stream  was 
always  beautiful;  the  rapids,  the  shallows, 
the  deep  pools,  the  wayward  curves,  the 
water  plants,  the  flying  birds,  the  possible 
fish  and  fishing,  the  lovely  landscape,  the 
great  bulk  of  the  distant  mountains  —  it 
was  all  good. 

I  took  the  steamer  "  Brittanic,"  of  the 
White  Star  line,  from  Queenstown,  on 
the  afternoon  of  the  5th  of  May.  While 
waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  mails  from 
Dublin  hv  rail,  many  of  the  returning: 
Americans  came  on  shore,  availing  them- 
selves  of  the  opportunity  to  visit  Irish 
soil,  making  merry  parties  on  flying  jaunt- 
ing cars,  laden  down  with  golden  blos- 
som of  the  gorse,  fragrant  lilac  bloom, 
and  great  bunches  of  pintle  rhododen- 
dron. 

The  luxuriant  foliage  and  genial  shel- 
ter of  Queenstown  never  seemed  more 
beautiful.  The  hours  of  waiting  soon 
were  past,  the  mails  were  quickly  handled, 
and  we  were  steaming  along,  once  more, 
the  rock-bound  coast,  out  into  the  great 
deep. 


fro  ©nglanii  ant>  li3acfc.       205 

On  the  morning  of  the  13th  my  voy- 
age was  over,  and  once  more  I  was  on 
American  soil.  It  was  indeed  lovely  to 
come  on  deck  in  the  early  morning  and 
rind  the  steamer  at  anchor  off  Sandy 
Hook.  The  Fort,  with  its  green  velvet 
grassy  embrasures,  the  trees  in  full  foliage, 
and  the  ever- welcome  stone  spire  of 
Xevesink  church,  made  a  pleasant  picture 
to  look  upon  after  the  grand  monotony  of 
the  sea. 

The  voyage,  however,  was  not,  for  me, 
monotonous.      It  was  a  long  holiday.      In 
the  early   morning  there  was  a   glorious 
plunge  in  high  proof,  genuine  salt  water, 
then  black  coffee,  a  little  rest,  and  a  good 
brisk  walk   on  deck,  and   then   breakfast, 
with    a    good    sea    appetite.      The    hours 
never  wearied.      If    I  wanted  utter  loneli- 
ness, I  could  get  out  on  the  forward  turtle 
back,  and  have  before  me  the  great  circle 
of  the   sea,  westward,  and   not  a  soul   in 
sight.      The  huge  steamer  seemed  to  carry 
myself   alone.      If   I  wanted   memories  of 
the  past,  I  could  get  back  in  equal  solitude 
at  the  stern,  and   fancy  the   British    Isles, 
where   I   spent   so  many  pleasant  months, 
beyond    the    waves    which    bounded    my 


206       fto  (JPnglan)  ant)  13ack. 

gaze  to  the  eastward.  If  I  wanted  com- 
pany, I  also  had  that.  My  opposites  at 
the  dinner-table  were  two  most  interesting 
men  from  Pittsburgh,  who  had  been  out 
in  Roumania  to  prospect  for  petroleum. 
They  were  of  Scotch- Irish  extraction,  the 
third  generation  from  the  old  home,  full 
of  fun,  vigor  and  American  breeziness. 
Their  Roumanian  experiences  were  worth 
listening  to.  By  my  side  was  a  good 
stout  friend  from  gastronomic  Baltimore. 
Beyond  was  a  saturnine  young  English- 
man, from  a  Florida  orange  grove,  gen- 
tlemanly and  good-natured  under  a  most 
alligator-like  severity.  Nor  were  other 
interests  lacking.  One  could  excite  to 
gentle  conversation  the  fair  mummies  on 
the  deck,  swathed  in  shawls  and  en- 
throned in  their  steamer  chairs;  or  the 
smoking-room  was  at  hand,  where  the 
incense  of  friendship  was  ever  ablaze;  or 
the  steerage  could  be  looked  into,  with  all 
its  nationalities  and  various  types  of  hu- 
manity. As  for  reading  or  writing,  that 
was  out  of  the  question;  a  cerebral  excite- 
ment comes  from  life  on  the  sea,  which 
at  once  arouses  to  action  and  prevents  any 
positive    concentration.     It    provides    the 


<ZTo  (£nglanfc  antr  i3arfe.        207 

best  possible  excuse  for  doing  nothing. 
In  this  happy  condition  were  most  of  the 
occupants  of  the  smoking-room,  aroused 
only  from  their  delicious  Havana  by  the 
announcement  of  the  day's  run,  or  the 
necessary  replenishment  of  the  sustaining 
pipe  or  goblet. 

Our  saloon  passenger  list  was  some- 
what limited,  about  seventy  in  all,  but 
amon":  them  I  aeain  found  evidences  of 
the  smallness  of  the  world.  The  first  day 
out  I  made  acquaintance  with  a  tine 
young  fellow  who  had  been  to  Liverpool 
with  a  load  of  cattle  from  the  West.  I 
found  him  to  be  one  of  De  Koven's  boys 
at  Racine,  a  graduate  at  Yale,  a  Church- 
man and  a  gentleman.  How  much  we 
had  to  talk  of  in  our  many  walks  on  deck! 

Two  splendid  fellows  I  found  also, 
Chicago  men,  buyers  for  one  of  our 
mammoth  houses,  on  their  return  trip 
from  Europe.  Another,  in  the  same  line, 
I  found  from  New  York,  who  knew  one 
of  my  old  choristers  at  the  cathedral,  now- 
grown  up  and  a  yearly  buyer  in  Paisley 
and  Manchester. 

A  charming  young  lady  I  found  to  be 
the  niece    of  a   brother    priest — my  class- 


208       Co  ©nglano  ana  $3acfe. 

mate  in  the  seminary,  and  a  dear  friend  ever 
since.  An  English  lady  bound  for  Wis- 
consin, I  found  to  be  on  her  way  thither 
to  join  her  brother,  whom  I  knew  well. 

A  well-to-do,  elderly  gentleman  from 
New  York,  who  had  just  done  the  holy 
places  in  Palestine,  and  also  Egypt  and 
the  Nile,  I  found  to  be  the  parishioner  of 
a  dear  friend  of  many  years'  standing. 
So  when  Sunday  came  about,  I  felt  that 
we  were  a  lot  of  friends  together,  and  the 
service  and  sermon  was  a  labor  of  love. 

The  voyage  all  through  was  most 
pleasant.  For  a  day  or  two  the  sea  was 
"deeply,  darkly,  beautifully  blue,"  but 
after  that  it  took  on  a  soberer  tone.  We 
had  no  storms,  but  we  had  the  great  long 
roll  of  the  Atlantic,  which  told  of  tumults 
further  off.  Of  these  we  heard  when  we 
got  on  shore,  for  an  incoming  steamer, 
travelling  at  the  same  time,  was  badly 
damaged  by  mountainous  waves,  whose 
rhythmic   echoes    alone,  we  experienced. 

There  are  few  sisrhts  more  sflorious 
than  New  York  harbor,  from  the  city  to 
the  sea  or  from  the  sea  to  the  city.  One 
greets  it  ever  with  fresh  enthusiasm.  In 
majestic  order  the  great  ship,  with  its  at- 


2To  tPnglatiti  antj  itJacfe.       209 

tendant  tugs,  slowly  gains  the  wharf; 
gently  as  a  child  going  to  sleep  the  huge 
hulk  moves  on ;  surely,  like  fate,  the  mo- 
ment of  landing  comes,  and  for  the  thou- 
sand souls  on  board  a  new  life  begins. 
Some  step  out  to  pleasant  friends  and 
hearty  greetings  —  such  was  my  happy 
lot — others  to  begin  again  the  battle  of 
life  in  a  new  and  untried  land,  among 
utter  strangers. 

I  looked  with  deep  interest  at  the  large 
stream  of  steerage  passengers,  over  nine 
hundred,  filing  off  across  the  dock  to  the 
tenders  which  were  to  convey  them  to 
the  Bureau  of  Immigration;  and  then  at 
my  fellow  passengers  in  the  saloon,  all 
intent  upon  the  ordeal  of  the  customs. 
There  were  courteous  farewells  anions: 
us,  and  many  hopes  of  renewed  meeting, 
and  soon,  in  due  time,  I  reached  again  the 
hospitality  of  i  East  29th  st.,  which  had 
been  wafted  to  me  across  the  broad  At- 
lantic, and  cheered  me  up  through  all  the 
way. 

As  I  rang  the  hell  at  the  well-known 
door,  I  turned  about  and  took  in  once 
more  the  bright  flowers,  the  splashing 
fountain,  the  merry   sparrows,  with   Bel- 


210       «JTo  UrttglantJ  ant)  iaacfc. 

teshazzar  and  Chedarlaomer  in  feline  ma- 
jesty looking  lazily  on.  I  was  aroused 
from  my  momentary  reverie  by  the 
voice  of  the  good  doctor,  who  had  him- 
self,  unperceived,  opened  the  door  behind 
me,  greeting  me  at  the  same  time  in 
cheery  tone,  with  the  classic  welcome, 
"  salve.'''' 

May  ij,  i8q2. 


<ZTo  (Pnglanto  anti  13ack.        211 


W 


XXX. 

HEN  one  gets  home  from  foreign 
parts,  familiar  sights  and  sounds 
take  on  a  strange  peculiarity,  which  they 
never  seemed  to  have  before.  How  queer- 
ly  free  and  easy  the  average  New  York 
policeman  looks,  compared  with  his  Lon- 
don brother.  What  a  lounging  aspect  at 
the  cab  stand.  How  odd  the  cosmopoli- 
tan  names  which  follow  each  other  on  the 
shop  signs.  How  independent  and  incon- 
venient the  indiscriminate  use  of  side- 
walks for  all  sorts  of  business  purposes. 
How  tired  and  eager  looking  the  average 
man.  How  mature  and  self-possessed  the 
children,  how  bright  and  wide-awake  the 
whole  aspect  of  things,  how  confident  of 
self,  how  heedless  of  rubbish  and  disorder, 
amid  splendor  and  magnificence  on  ever} 
hand. 

Assertive  architecture,  bright  skies, 
gay  colors,  drive,  dash  and  bustle  every- 
where and,  through  it   all,  a  certain  inde- 


212       Co  (JPnglanti  anti  13acft. 

pendent  carelessness  which  shows  itself  in 
the  faces  of  all  about  you.  This  is  New 
York.  I  saw  more  than  this  though  on 
on  my  first  day  back.  The  chestnut  trees 
were  in  full  bloom  at  the  Worth  Monu- 
ment, and  the  great  stretch  of  Madison 
Square  was  a  bower  of  greenery.  There 
is  no  street  scene  in  my  mind  that  has 
more  of  glitter  in  it  than  that  spot  in  New 
York,  where  Broadway  runs  diagonally 
across  Fifth  avenue  at  23d  st.  I  stood 
there  a  short  time  to  watch  the  crowd 
which  never  passes  by,  but  is  always  pass- 
ing. It  is  a  steady  stream  of  American 
life  which  nowhere  else  presents  such 
contrasts  of  all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  men  and  women,  the  vast  majority 
showing  evidence  of  that  levelling-up 
process,  which  is  the  great  distinctive 
aspect  of  American  city  life  as  com- 
pared with  all  others.  The  shop  girl 
trips  along  dressed  a-la-mode  and  the 
mechanic  or  clerk  gives  little  evidence 
of  any  special  calling.  A  certain  touch 
of  fancy  and  vivacity  is  in  all  about 
you.  It  is  on  the  shop  fronts,  on  the 
street  vehicles,  on  everything.  This  dash 
and  elan  appears  in  the   very  services  of 


2To  <J?nglanti  anti  <L3ark.       213 

the  Church.  The  clergy  do  not  look  as 
if  their  surplices  were  thrown  on,  their 
stoles  are  straight  and  neat.  If  hoods  are 
worn,  they  have  a  fastidious  exactness  of 
cut  and  color  quite  remarkable.  I  saw 
four  on  in  one  vestry,  all  different  and  at- 
tractive. A  touch  of  American  improve- 
ment is  given  to  every  object,  including 
even  the  Church  itself.  I  strolled  into 
Grace  church  and  had  a  look  round  at 
that  representative  building,  and  noticed 
the  peculiar  comfortable  luxuriousness 
which  one  never  sees  in  churches  abroad. 
I  also  noticed  that  the  choir,  which  for- 
merly had  stalls  at  each  side  of  the  chan- 
cel, was  moved  hack  to  the  gallery  over 
the  west  front.  It  seemed  to  be  a  very 
sensible  proceeding.  A  choir  of  profes- 
sional men  and  women,  close  up  to  the 
altar  at  each  side,  is  not  always  sure  of 
being  a  help  to  devotion  at  all  times.  If 
also  they  sing  elaborate  music,  needing  a 
conductor's  hand,  which  certainly  they 
ought,  the  mechanism  of  the  musical  pro- 
cess becomes  disagreeably  prominent. 
Other  churches  will  follow  this  lead  and, 
possihlv,  we  will  see  ere  long  a  revival  of 
west  eallery  choirs.     I  am  sure  there  are 


2J4       Co  O^nglanti  anti  <L3acfc. 


few  more  distressing  experiences  than  the 
cluttered  up  vestry  rooms  of  little  church- 
es, where  priests  and  choir  vest  together, 
and  the  horror  is  continued  and  intensified 
in  small  chancels  where  choristers,  organ, 
organist,  bellows-blower,  priest  and  altar, 
are  all  huddled  together  in  a  space  some- 
times less  than  twelve  feet  by  ten!  Bet- 
ter choir  stalls  well  down  in  the  nave 
among  the  people,  with  the  organ  above 
at  the  west  end,  or,  just  as  well,  the  choir 
surpliced  in  the  west  gallery. 

The  indiscriminate  use  of  choirs  of 
men  and  boys  illy  trained  and  bundled  into 
our  small  chancels,  is  not  an  American 
improvement,  although  too  prevalent  a 
use.  The  echoes  of  English  choirs  are 
yet  in  my  ears,  which  one  hears  from  the 
distance  of  nave  or  transept,  or  stands 
beside  in  the  spacious  choir,  while  on  be- 
yond is  the  altar,  withdrawn  within  its 
own  sacred  space  We  have  much  to 
learn  and  much  to  get  rid  of  in  our  sur- 
pliced choirs,  and  perhaps  must  bring  the 
well-trained  adult  voices  of  men  and  wo- 
men once  more  to  lead  the  music  of  many 
of  our  churches,  from  the  quiet  vantage 
ground  of  the  Western   Gallery. 


2To  <$n  giant  ant  iSacfe.        215 

During  my  few  days  in  New  York  1 
made  a  visit  to  the  site  of  the  new  Cathedral 
of  St.  John  the  Divine  and  tried  to  imagine 
what  a  grand  place  it  will  be  when  com- 
pleted. The  position  is  magnificence  it- 
self. It  is  a  crowning  point  of  the  great 
upheaval  which  rises  on  the  western  side 
of  Manhattan  Island.  It  will  tower  up 
and  be  a  landmark  from  the  lower  bay. 
It  will  dominate  the  Hudson  river.  It 
will  crown  the  verdure  of  Central  Park 
with  its  soaring  splendors.  It  will  say  to 
millions  through  all  time,  "  This  is  none 
other  than  the  house  of  God  and  the  very 
gate  of  Heaven." 

All  this  in  the  future;  but  at  present, 
even,  it  is  very  beautiful.  The  old  Leake 
and  Watts  orphan  asylum,  now  no  longer 
used  as  such,  occupies  the  grounds.  An 
old-fashioned  pillared  portico  accents  the 
front;  above  is  a  great  cross.  Ample 
stretches  of  greensward  are  on  every  side, 
and  grand  trees  and  (lowering  shrubs  sug- 
gest the  palace  of  the  sleeping  beauty. 
The  kiss  must  lie  a  golden  one  which  will 
waken  all  to  life,  hut  the  coming  chink  of 
that  is  already  heard.  On  the  gateway 
was  this  inscription,  which  gives  a  signifi- 


216       5To  ©nglantJ  antJ  iSacfc. 

cant  hint  of  the  spiritual  life  which  gold 
cannot  buy,  "for  the  price  of  wisdom  is 
above  rubies."     Here  it  is: 

CATHEDRAL 

OF 

ST.   JOHN    THE    DIVINE, 

TEMPORARY  CHAPEL. 

HOLY    COMMUNION 

EVERY  SUNDAY 

AT  9  A.  M. 

ALL  ARE  WELCOME. 

As  I  looked  at  that  sign  my  mind  re- 
verted to  a  scene  I  witnessed  over  thirty 
years  ago,  when  Bishop  Whitehouse  held 
the  first  services  in  his  cathedral  chapel 
at  Chicago,  which  he  afterward  enlarged 
and  named  the  Cathedral  of  Saints  Peter 
and  Paul.  As  I  looked  at  the  prospective 
magnificence  before  me  in  New  York,  I 
felt  that  the  western  fact  made  the  eastern 
hope  a  splendid  possibility.  But  my  mind 
went  back  farther  yet  to  the  first  public 
utterance  of  the  second  Bishop  of  Illinois, 
when  in  his  address  of  either  1S51  01-1852, 
he  outlined  the  Cathedral  system,  declar- 
ing it  to  be  a  necessary  adjunct  to  the 
Episcopate,  being,  as  he  afterwards  formu- 
lated it,  "  the  complement  of  the  head- 
ship." 


2To  iPnglanfi  anfc  $3arfc.       217 

I  would  like  to  -see  in  the  Cathedral  of 
St.  John  the  Divine,  New  York,  a  grand 
recumbent  monument  to  Bishop  White- 
house  with  this  inscription  thereon:  "The 
founder  of  the  first  American  cathedral." 

During  my  stay  in  New  York  I  also 
visited  the  new  St.  Agnes'.  It  presents  a 
most  imposing  appearance  from  the  out- 
side, making,  with  its  rectorv,  parish  build- 
ing, and  chapel,  a  magnificent  pile.  It  is 
in  the  new  and  growing  part  of  the  west 
side  of  the  city,  at  921!  street  and  Tenth 
avenue.  The  residences  here  are  detached 
like  those  on  our  best  Chicago  boulevards, 
and  the  streets  are  ended  by  the  distant 
greenness  of  Hoboken  seen  across  the 
Hudson  river.  The  I  louse  of  God  seems, 
as  it  ought,  to  be  the  best  house  there. 
From  the  outside  at  least,  you  feel  satis- 
fied that  the  $800,000  which  all  cost  w  ;is 
well  spent.  Frankly  I  cannot  say  as 
much  for  the  inside.  The  hist  shock  was 
to  see  the  view  on  entering  cut  off  by  an 
overhanging  gallery  at  the  west  entrance. 
The  second  was  to  feel  the  incongruous 
and  strange  mixture  of  pointed  arches  un- 
der the  great  central  tower,  with  rounded 
arches    farther   on,  and    on  every  hand   in 


2i8       5To  tPnglanu  anrj  liacfc. 

the  rest  of  the  structure.  The  third  was 
to  hud  that  the  lantern  of  the  tower, 
which  should  flood  the  inside  with  soft,  ra- 
diant light  from  above,  was  all  blocked  up 
with  darkest  stained  glass,  with  a  glint  here 
and  there  of  ruby  or  of  yellow.  What 
should  have  been  a  fountain  of  purest 
light,  was  an  impenetrable  cavern,  a  place 
of  gloom. 

The  sugary  profusion  of  light  marbles 
and  gilt  mosaic  gives  a  luxurious  air  to  the 
whole  edifice.  The  redeeming  feature 
was  a  certain  archaic  effect,  produced  by 
the  marble  altars  and  stalls  and  other  fur- 
niture, suggestive  of  early  Christian  art, 
as  seen  in  San  Clemente  and  the  cata- 
combs. 

I  sat  down  in  the  pews  and  watched 
the  people  coming  in  to  rent  their  sittings. 
We  must,  of  course,  have  pewed  churches, 
but  my  mind  reverted  with  thankfulness 
to  St.  Augustine's  and  St.  Chrysostom's 
both  free,  and  to  dear  old  Trinity  at  the 
head  of  Wall  St.,  and  I  thought  with  glad- 
ness of  how  nearly  that  also  was  a  free 
church,  and  how  much  it  was  ahead  of 
anything  like  the  new  St.  Agnes'.  I 
thought,  too,  of   graceful   Trinity   chapel. 


Co  tPnglanto  anb  ^Sacfc.        219 


Yes,  also  of  classical  St.  John's,  doomed, 
alas!  to  destruction,  and  felt  that  we  may 
have  gorgeous  experiments  in  architecture, 
but  few  such  truthful  exponents  of  real  art 
as  the  churches  I  have  named.  T<>  say 
that  the  Parthenon  has  not  been  surpassed 
need  not  seem  a  slur  upon  present  achieve- 
ment.     It  simply  states  a  fact. 

I  also  happened  into  the  new  Zion  and 
St.  Timothy  —  awkward  name,  hut  really 
beautiful  church.  It  is  one  of  Ilalsey 
Wood's  designs,  and  has  the  notes  of  that 
peculiar  stateliness  which  so  eminently  per- 
tains to  his  structures.  It  is,  inside  and 
outside,  brick,  and,  except  for  a  little  pew 
upholstery,  has  that  honest,  sturdy  sever- 
ity of  the  best  English  work.  The  sex- 
ton told  me  with  great  unction  how  well 
they  were  off,  having  a  good  endowment, 
free  pews,  and  an  overflowing  congrega- 
tion as  liberal  as  one  could  wish.  Like 
everything  else  in  America,  a  free  church 
must  come  under  the  general  rule  of  suc- 
cess, or  it  will  not  succeed.  It  must  have 
a  good  start,  a  large  edifice,  and  every 
evidence  of  life  and  prosperity,  and  then 
the  people  will  flock  in. 

This  St.  George's,   Stuyvesant  Square 


220       <ZTo  GFnglanti  anti  I5arft. 

has,  an  endowed  rectorship,  yielding 
$10,000  per  annum,  a  fine  grand  church, 
inherited  from  pew-renting  days,  and  old 
families  of  wealth  and  prominence  hooked 
on  to  the  old  place  by  ties  of  years  and 
blood. 

I  was  at  St.  Zion's  —  no,  Zion  and  St. 
Timothy's  —  at  an  evening  service  on 
Sunday,  and  enjoyed  the  great  congrega- 
tion and  the  fine  singing  of  the  people. 
The  sermon,  by  a  bishop  who  has  an  em- 
pire for  a  diocese,  was  over  an  hour  and 
a  half  long.  How  differently  things  ap- 
pear to  a  clergyman  when  he  is  a  wor- 
shipper among  the  people.  The  sermon 
was  not  too  long  for  me;  the  amazed  look 
of  the  young  men  and  others  near  me,  as 
period  after  period  rolled  off,  was  a  useful 
and  telling  study. 

Before  starting  back  again  to  the  West, 
I  made  one  more  visit  to  the  General 
Theological  Seminary.  "  How,"  said  I 
to  myself,  "  will  it  all  appear  after  the 
majesty  and  extent  of  Oxford?" 

Well,  it  holds  its  own  remarkably 
well;  I  may  add  even,  that  I  have  not 
been  into  a  college  chapel  service  in 
Oxford   which,  for    heartiness  and    spon- 


£o  &n giant)  anto  13ack.       221 

taneous  beauty,  could  touch  the  chapel  of 
the  Good  Shepherd  at  the  Seminary  in 
New  York.  The  rolling  tone  of  the 
Gregorian  Psalter  was  splendid,  the  per- 
sonnel of  the  students  most  attractive,  the 
air  of  religious  feeling  most  apparent,  the 
entire  absence  of  officialism  and  petrified 
routine  most  pleasant;  and  the  building 
itself,  too,  was  not  lacking  in  the  presence 
of  the  "exceedingly  magnifical." 

The  comely  altar  and  reredos  of  costly 
marbles  and  alabaster,  the  well-finished 
pavements,  the  solid  and  tasteful  fittings, 
the  resonant  organ,  the  harmonious  and 
intelligently  arranged  stained  glass,  pro- 
duced a  whole,  which  made  an  honored 
kinship  to  Magdalene,  to  Exeter,  to  Ke- 
ble,  and  to  New. 

If  we  should  ever  get  so  un-American 
as  to  put  a  great  wall  all  round  Chelsea 
Square,  the  entrance  to  such  an  enclosure 
and  what  is  or  will  be  there,  would  lu- 
like  a  vision  of  some  of  Oxford's  good 
things.  But  as  it  is,  the  seminary  is  a 
"thing  of  beauty."  May  it  be  "a  joy 
forever." 

Two  other  incidents  in  my  stay  East 
have  fastened  themselves  in  my  memory. 


222       2To  tPnglanti  anti  Mack. 

One,  my  first  Celebration  after  returning, 
at  the  Midnight  Mission ;  the  other,  a  visit 
to  St.  Peter's,  Morristown,  New  Jersey, 
where  I  found  a  beautiful  church  just 
completed  except  the  tower,  which 
brought  back  to  life  here  in  this  western 
land  the  best  type  of  sacred  building  one 
could  find  in  the  old  home,  untouched 
by  glare  or  finical  ornament,  but  grave, 
solemn,  real,  precious,  beautiful,  chaste,  a 
very  symbol  of  the  Living  Church,  a  no- 
ble bride  adorned  for  the  heavenly  bride- 
groom. 

Nc-m  York,  May  18,  i8q2. 


To  <$nglanl)  antj  ISacfe.        223 


XXXI. 

OXCE  again  on  a  train  for  the  West, 
the  voyage  over,  friends  in  New 
York  revisited,  and  sweet  old  memories 
renewed,  we  start  on  the  home  stretch  for 
Chicago! 

There  is  a  feeling  of  splendid  achieve- 
ment in  the  personnel  of  a  limited  train 
on  one  of  our  great  railroads.  When  I 
say  personnel,  I  do  not  mean  merely  the 
officers  or  their  assistants,  but  the  very 
train  itself,  including  in  that  term  the 
whole  equipment. 

To  walk  through  from  end  to  end, 
from  dining  car  to  the  library  and  smok- 
ing-car,  is  a  revelation  of  energy  and  in- 
tellect combining  to  make  travel  a  delight. 

You  have  crossed  the  ocean  on  a  vast 
monster  whose  food  is  fire  and  whose 
breath  is  steam.  Under  the  scales  of  this 
leviathan  you  have  slept  in  peace,  and  in  its 
bosom  you  have  been  cherished  with  royal 
dainties:  and  now,  a  tamed  monster  of  like 


224       Co  tPnglano  anti  33acfe. 

breed,  a  flying  dragon  of  strange  verte- 
brate variety,  bends  its  back  to  your  foot 
and  whirls  vou  in  luxurious  safety  across 
the  continent. 

It  gives  one  a  renewed  home  enthusi- 
asm to  dash  on  so  splendidly,  up  the 
glorious  valley  of  the  Hudson,  and  on  and 
on  to  the  great  level  stretches  which  await 
the  traveller  by  the  mighty  lakes. 

The  Hudson  river  never  seemed  more 
lovely,  nor  the  Catskills  more  grand.  Si- 
lently one  watched  the  flying  panorama, 
vainly  longing  to  possess  as  a  permanent 
pleasure  the  framed-in  landscape  of  even 
one  car  window. 

The  first  long,  splendid  dash  brought 
us  to  Albany,  where  one  fain  would  stop 
and  refresh  himself  with  the  beauty  of 
the  first  structure  in  America  which  fitly 
expresses  the  cathedral  idea.  There,  at 
least,  one  can  find  a  grand  building,  well 
conceived,  the  work  well-done,  and  all 
beerinnines  harmonious  —  foundations  for 
nobly  designed  further  progress.  Nothing 
to  undo,  and  much  yet  to  accomplish  in 
faith  and  love. 

While  we  were  taking  a  step  or  two 
on   the   platform  in  the  brief  stoppage  at 


«JTo  (fcttfilairtJ  nnti  i5acfc.       225 

Albany,  Bishop  Coxe  passed  by  and  took 
our  train  for  Buffalo.  He  looked  well 
and  returned  our  salutation  with  all  the 
grace  and  courtesy  which  are  so  eminently 
his.  I  wish  I  could  tell  all  the  nice  things 
he  said,  and  the  compliments  which  made 
it  evident  that  at  least  on  the  score  of  per- 
sonal health  my  "Winter  Vacation"  had 
been  to  me  a  success. 

The  day  wore  on  through  New  York 
State.  A  sweet  oblivion  fell  over  all  the 
night  of  our  journey,  and  my  waking  out- 
look was  nearing  home,  but  vet  in  In- 
diana. 

After  the  varied  outlines  of  English 
scenery,  the  majestic  monotony  of  the 
sea,  the  splendors  of  New  York  and  the 
glory  of  the  Catskills,  the  first  look  on  a 
western  landscape  has  a  sort  of  spectral 
lightness. 

The  few  simple  elements  of  scattered 
trees,  Hat  horizon,  and  v;ist  aerial  spaces, 
all  help  to  produce  this  effect.  The  sky 
was  palest  blue,  with  a  stiff  array  of  for- 
mal fleecy  clouds  stretched  in  lines  across 
it,  while  beneath  were  the  branching 
trees  just  touched  with  vivid  green,  and 
the   earth,   yet   bare   of  summer   bravery, 


226       *E"o  <!Pnglantj  anti  i3acft. 

stretching  out  in  its  vast  indefmiteness, 
telling  us  that  we  are  in  "  the  West." 

Another  voice  with  a  like  message  soon 
sounded  out  to  us  from  the  right  hand. 
Ere  long  we  were  by  the  mighty  lake.  A 
strip  of  yellow  sand  alone  separated  us 
from  the  dancing  waves.  The  vast  bend 
of  the  great  circling  horizon,  tremendous 
as  the  ocean,  uttered  to  us  again  the  thrill- 
ing message:     "  This  is  the  West." 

Nearing  the  very  end  of  a  long  jour- 
ney has  in  it  a  certain  thrilling  interest 
of  unrest  and  expectancy.  Months  have 
fled,  changes  have  come,  much  has  hap- 
pened, the  past  has  gone;  the  future  to 
come,  what  will  it  be? 

The  pleasant  friends  of  the  long  rail- 
road journey  have  already  said  adieu,  the 
baorsfasre  man  is  in  the  train;  on  we  fly 
through  the  far-reaching  miles  of  Chi- 
cago, until  at  last  we  roll  into  the  station 
and  alight  to  the  pleasant  greetings  of 
faithful  friends,  and  then,  off  through 
the  whirl  of  Chicago  to  our  welcome 
home. 

While  the  strange  new  light  is  vet  on 
all  that  surrounds  us  here,  let  us  jot  down 
our  returning  experience.     We  note  with 


Co  ^PnglanTi  antr  ISarfe.        227 

interest  the  vast  array  of  primordial  cells 
of  social  life  in  the  long  stretch  of  artisan 
cottages  which  reach  out  for  miles  on  the 
prairies.  The  great  school  houses  loom 
up,  cross-tipped  spires  arc  not  altogether 
wanting,  hut  the  denominating  feature  of 
all  is  "business,  business,  business."  The 
clanging  bells  of  the  constant  trains  ring 
"  business,  business."  The  huge  eleva- 
tors roar  out  "business;"  the  vast  piles  of 
stately  warehouses,  splendid  in  architec- 
ture and  Egyptian-like  in  their  solid 
grandeur,  utter  in  deep  tones,  "  business.'" 
The  sky-scrapers  that  dwarf  Cologne  or 
York  Minster,  shriek  "business."  The 
unmerciful  cable  cars,  the  Juggernauts  of 
commerce,  snarl  out  "  business;1"  the  toss- 
ing crowds  are  intent  on  "business." 
Huge  gaps  are  seen  here  and  there  where 
vast  buildings  have  been  torn  down  by 
"business,"  to  make  room  for  greater 
"  business."  It  looks  as  if  a  tornado  had 
struck  the  whole  place  and  left  piles  of 
building  material  on  all  sides  scattered 
about,  but  the  cyclone  whirl  which  has 
done  it  all  is  merely   the  breath  of  "busi- 


ness." 


Amid  all  this  din  of  "business"  a  note 


228       Co  (SPnglairtr  antt  $3arfc. 

struck  in  of  strange,  antique  tone.  It  was 
in  accord  with  much  that  I  had  observed 
in  England  where  religion  has  been 
cared  for  in  the  past  and  fortified  for  the 
future.  It  witnessed  to  the  reproduction 
here  in  Chicago  of  that  system  by  which 
a  "  rent  charge  "  is  made  to  support  the 
services  of  religion.  This  strange  tone  in 
the  midst  of  all  Chicago's  din  of  business 
came  from  some  mission  buildings  close 
by  the  railroad  tracks,  over  which  I  was 
passing.  There  I  saw  a  magnificent 
plant  consisting  of  chapel,  mission  rooms 
(medical  and  social),  manual  training 
schools  and  gymnasium,  all  surrounded 
by  block  after  block  of  flats,  the  rental  of 
which  sustained  the  entire  fabric,  paying 
all  expenses  of  the  mission,  giving  at  the 
same  time  healthful,  tasteful  and  invit- 
ing homes  to  the  people,  and  affording 
them  also,  absolutely  free,  a  place  of  wor- 
ship and  the  humanizing  influences  of  re- 
ligion and  pastoral  care.  Here,  on  what 
is  designated  a  non-sectarian  basis,  a 
common-sense  Chicago  millionaire  has 
adopted  the  Church's  old  plan  of  secur- 
ing religious  privileges  for  the  masses, by 
a  rent  charge  on  occupied  property. 


Co  ©nglanfc  antj  iaacfc.       229 


This  business  man  represents  the  State 
giving  privilege  of  occupancy  to  its  citi- 
zens, under  the  condition  that  they  shall 
pay  a  rent  charge  for  the  support  of  re- 
ligion within  their  boundaries.  The  old 
revives  amid  the  new. 

It  is  pleasant  to  see  all  this  amid  the 
whirl  of  "business."  Vast  structures 
have  been  run  up  during  my  six  months' 
absence.  1  am  almost  a  stranger  in  what 
were  once  to  me  familiar  streets.  Now- 
all  is  changed  or  changing.  1  visit  the 
World's  Fair  Buildings,  and  am  tired  out 
by  the  mere  walk  from  each  to  each;  and 
all  around.  Through  ornamental  gar- 
dens, and  by  lagoons,  an  army  of  work- 
men are  hard  at  it,  and  all  branches  seem 
to  move  on  together.  Here,  a  crowd  of 
men  arrayed  in  India  rubber  clothing  are 
planting  a  variety  of  aquatic  plants  in  the 
ornamental  waters;  there,  electricians;  be- 
yond, engineers;  aloft,  machine  fitters 
joining  the  enormous  arches  of  the  great 
Machinery  Hall;  on  every  side  work, 
work,  while  the  great  lake  lies  fast  asleep 
beyond,  and  the  great  city  stretches  out 
its  vast  depths  on  either  side.  But  the 
time    will    come,    yes,    is   coming,    when 


230       Co  tfnglanlj  ant)  tJark. 

there  will  be  the  fair  fruits  of  this  "busi- 
ness." The  Newberry  Library  looks 
noble  and  inspiring  in  its  rising  beauty  in 
Washington  Square.  The  Chicago  Uni- 
versity already  begins  to  present  a  splen- 
did appearance.  The  foundations  of  the 
new  Art  Building  are  in,  upon  the  Lake 
Front;  Kretschman's  inspired  Columbus 
will  also  soon  be  there  in  breathing 
bronze;  and  so,  little  by  little,  or  rather  I 
should  say,  much  by  much,  Chicago 
emerges  from  the  youthful  ravenousness 
of  insatiate  business,  to  the  wider  and 
calmer  condition  of  solid  acquirement,  re- 
poseful pleasure,  and  refined  rest. 

Amid  all  the  roar  and  bustle  of  civic 
existence,  it  was  sweet  to  note  the  mod- 
est but  most  eventful  indications  of 
Church  life,  the  growth  of  six  months. 
Among  these,  the  new  parish  house  for 
the  mother  church  of  the  West,  St. 
James',  Chicago,  the  great  organ  at  the 
Epiphany,  the  projected  churches  for 
St.  Paul's,  Kenwood,  St.  Paul  the  Apos- 
tle, Austin,  and  other  edifices,  close  to, 
or  in  the  city ',  but  beyond  all  this,  the 
spirit  of  work  and  progress  which  charac- 
terized   the  diocesan    convention,    where 


2To  <£nglanto  aria  $3ack.       231 

so  many  of  my  brethren  gladly  wel- 
comed me  back  among  them  from  Eng- 
land after  my  most  pleasant,  profitable, 
and  happily  ended    "  Winter   Vacation." 

Chicago,  May  ji,  1892, 


LAUREL-CROWNED    VERSE. 

Edited  by  Francis  F.  Browne. 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE.       By   Sir 

Walter  Scott. 

CHILDE    HAROLD'S    PILGRIMAGE.     A 
Romaunt.     By  Lord  Byron. 

LALLA    ROOKH.       An    Oriental    Romance. 
By  Thomas  Moore. 

IDYLLS    OF    THE    KING.        By    Alfred, 
Lord  Tennyson. 

PARADISE  LOST.     By  John  Milton. 

THE    ILIAD    OF    HOMER.     Translated  by 
Alexander   Pope.     2  vols. 

All  the  volumes  of  this  scries  are  from  a  specially 
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A  contribution  to  current  literature  of  quite  unique 
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.Standard,  Chicago, 

Each  volume  is  finely  printed  and  bound; 
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LAUREL-CROWNED  LETTERS. 


The  Best  Letters  of  Lord  Chesterfield.  Edited, 

with  an  Introduction,  by  Edward  Gilpix 

Johnson. 
The    Best    Letters   of    Lady    Mary   Wortley 

Montagu.     Edited,  with  a  Dedicatory  Let- 
ter, by  Octave  Thanet. 
The  Best  Letters  of  Horace  Walpole.    Edited, 

with    an    Introduction,    by    Anna    B. 

McMahan. 
The    Best    Letters    of   Madame   de  Sevigne. 

Edited,  with  an    Introduction,  by  Edward 

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The  Best  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb.     Edited, 

with  an    Introduction,  by  Edward  Gilpin 

Johnson. 
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Edited,  with  an    Introduction,  by  Shirley 

C.  Hughson. 
The  Best  Letters  of  William  Cowper.     Edited, 

with    an    Introduction,    by    Anna    B. 

McMahan. 


Amid  the  great  flood  of  ephemera]  literature  that 
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of  the  world. — The  Independent,  New  York. 

These  Laurel-Crowned  Volumes  are  little  gems  in 
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York. 

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Sold  by  all  booksellers,  or  mailed  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Chicago. 


B 


IOGRAPHIES    OF    MUSICIANS. 


LIFE  OF  LISZT.     With  Portrait. 

LIFE  OF  HAYDN.    With  Portrait. 

LIFE  OF  MOZART.     With  Portrait. 

LIFE  OF  WAGNER.    With  Portrait, 

LIFE  OF  BEETHOVEN,    With  Portrait. 

From  the  German  of  Dr.  Louis  Nohl, 

In  cloth,  per  volume ....,...$  1.00 

The  same,  in  neat  box.  per  set 5.00 

In  half  calf,  per  set 12.50 

Of  the  "  Life  of  Liszt."  t  he  Herald  (Boston)  says:  "  It  Is 
written  in  great  simplicity  and  perfect  taste,  and  is  wholly 
successful  in  all  that  it  undertakes  to  portray." 

Of  the  "Life  of  Haydn,"  the  Gazette  (Boston)  says  :  "No 
fuller  history  of  Haydn's  career,  the  society  in  whicli  he 
moved,  and  of  his  personal  life  can  be  found  than  is  given  iu 
this  work." 

Of  the  "Life  of  Mozart,"  the  Standard  says:  "Mozart 
supplies  a  fascinating  subject  for  biographical  treatment.  He 
lives  in  these  pages  somewhat  as  the  world  saw  him,  from 
bis  marvellous  boyhood  till  his  untimely  death." 

Of  the  "Life  of  Wagner.''  the  American  (Baltimore)  says: 
"  It  gives  in  vigorous  outlines  those  events  of  the  life  of  the 
tone  poet  which  exercised  the  greatest  influences  upon  his 
artistic  careei  " 

Of  the  "Life  of  Beethoven,"  the  National  Journal  oj 
Education  says  :  "  Beethoven  was  great  and  noble  as  a  man, 
and  his  artistic  creations  were  In  harmony  with  his  great 
nature.     The  story  of  his  life  is  of  the  deepest  Interest." 


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Cor.  Wabash  Ave.  and  Madison  St.,  Chicago. 


SHORT  HISTORY  OF  FRANCE, 
FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE,  By  Miss  E.  S. 
Kirkland,  author  of  "  Six  Little  Cooks,"  "  Dora's 
Housekeeping,"  etc. 

I2MO.,  EXTRA,  CLOTH,  BLACK  AND  GILT,  $1.25. 


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yet  appeared." — Bulletin,  Philadelphia. 

"A  book  both  instructive  and  entertaining.  It  is  not  a 
dry  compendium  of  dates  and  facts,  but  a  charmingly  written 
history  " — Christian  Union,  Neio  York. 

"After  a  careful  examination  of  its  contents,  we  are  able 
to  conscientiously  give  it  our  heartiest  commendation.  We 
know  no  elementary  history  of  France  that  can  at  all  be  com- 
pared with  it." — Living  Church. 

"  A  spirited  and  entertaining  sketch  of  the  French  people 
and  nation, — one  that  will  seize  and  hold  the  attention  of  all 
bright  boys  and  girls  who  have  a  chance  to  read  it." — Sunday 
Afternoon,  Springfield  (Mass.). 

"  We  find  its  descriptions  universally  good,  that  it  is  admir- 
ably simple  and  direct  in  style,  without  waste  of  words  or 
timidity  of  opinion.  The  book  represents  a  great  deal  of  patient 
labor  and  conscientious  study."  —  Courant,  Hartford  (Conn.). 

"Miss  Kirkland  has  composed  her  'Short  History  of 
France '  in  the  way  in  which  a  history  for  young  people  ought 
to  be  written;  that  is,  she  has  aimed  to  present  a  consecutive 
and  agreeable  story,  from  which  the  reader  can  not  only 
learn  the  names  of  kings  and  the  succession  of  events,  but 
can  also  receive  a  vivid  and  permanent  impression  as  to  the 
characters,  modes  of  life,  and  the  spirit  of  different  people." 
■-The  Nation,  New  York. 


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3 


